Series 7 Oneshots
by Graveygraves
Summary: As the title suggests this is a collection of one-shots each connected to an episode in series 7. All characters included. Un'beta'd so advice and comments appreciated.
1. It takes a village

**Series 7 One-shots: It Takes a Village**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am putting a note on all of my stories to try and let people know that my updates may become a little erratic due to increased responsibilities at work from now until Christmas. I am sorry to do this. Please bear with me. I was going to leave posting this until I had some more one-shots done, but decided to post and work on the others as I can. **

**I did this for Series 6 – wrote a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. I am aiming to do the same for this series. I wrote this a few weeks ago, but haven't had the chance to type it up until now.**

**. . .**

**Prompt:**

**Prentiss**** – **So, urn, how angry is the team?

**JJ**** – **(sigh) They're in shock.

**Prentiss**** – **Of course.

. . .

**Penelope Garcia**

Sat alone on the couch Penelope, absentmindedly, stroked Sergio; the sleek black cat purred contently, as he received his temporary owners attention.

She smiled as she snuggled down with the glossy feline. Sergio had been her prop. Pen had taken him in out of respect for her lost friend, but any day soon she knew she would be handing him back to his rightful owner. Emily Prentiss was alive and back where she belonged.

Penelope had not come to terms with Emily's 'death'. Reluctantly she had moved passed denial, but admittedly she had then got firmly stuck somewhere in the depressive stage. Nowhere close to acceptance.

She had plastered on her bright cheery face daily, determined not to show the impact to those surrounding her. However at home with Sergio the tears had flowed; his soft fur soaking up a river full over the months.

Morgan had given her days focus. Their joint drive to end Doyle made dealing with the false reality bearable.

Now all of that was in the past. A night terror that had stalked her 24/7 was to become a distant memory as she awoke into a bright new day.

Emily Prentiss was alive. It was an undisputable fact. Penelope was certain as she had seen her, held her, laughed and cried with her.

Finally her family were reunited.

. . .

**Jenifer Jereau**

Taking a large gulp from the hard liquor the glass contained, JJ steadied herself on the table by her side. Relief was flooding her body as her brain finally registered the fact that there were no more lies.

The enforced deceit of the last seven months had come to an abrupt end. Since the moment she had stood by Hotch's side and briefed the team to the end of today's Senate hearing, her world had spun, double time. JJ hadn't had the time to breathe let alone come to terms with what had happened. Looking up at Will as he re-entered the lounge area, having put Henry to bed, she registered the look on his face.

"I don't know what else I am to say," she murmured, hugging the glass tumbler to her chest as she leant back against the hard wood surface now behind her.

Will flopped lifelessly onto the couch, shrugging as he did so.

"I thought you'd understand," JJ claimed.

"Obviously not."

JJ had been ready for the impact of lying to her friends and colleagues, but had not prepared herself for Will's reaction to the deceit.

"I was under orders to tell no-one," a sentences that seemed to be on repeat the last few days.

"And that includes me? I'm a no-one!" Will spat.

"Yes," JJ retorted, "I mean no."

Shaking his head Will stood, turning back towards her just before he got to the study door, he faced her squarely.

"Every night I held you, comforted you as you cried, trying to pick up the pieces once Spencer had left. God Babe you are convincing coz I was certain you were falling to pieces."

"I was, some days I think I still am. Will this is the hardest thing I have ever done. It's why I wanted to leave the Pentagon. Hotch would never expect me to lie to everyone I love. I lost a friend, she may not have died but I lost her, and instead of talking it through I had to bottle it up, building boundaries between myself and everyone else," JJ could no longer contain the sobs.

Will closed the space he had created between them. Pulling JJ close to him, her tears rapidly soaked a patch on his shoulder. Smoothing her long blonde hair, Will tried to wipe away the pain.

He hadn't considered JJ's view. Will had no way of imagining how hard the last few months must have been. He had assumed her returning to the team was some sort of personal therapy, but really it was torture. Facing daily the impact of the lies she had helped create.

Holding onto Will for dear life JJ closed her watery eyes. One weight had been lifted from her shoulders, only to be replaced with a heavier one.

Her family, both of them, were fractured, but she hoped healing.

. . .

**Derek Morgan**

Hitting the leather coated bag as hard as he could, Derek punished the equipment as if it was his own personal nemesis.

Presently his world was spinning on a wonky axis, and he couldn't get a hold on the handle to steady it.

Since the second Emily Prentiss walked into the conference room, everything he was certain of in life had been cast into doubt. If her death was a lie, what else was?

Punch after aggressive punch met its target as the sweat poured down his back. This was real. The scream of his muscles as he pushed them further then he had before and the pain in his knuckles as he pummelled the punch bag. The thud that echoed through his skull, as he kept time with the beat of the music he had pumping into his ears.

Right here, right now was all his confused mind could deal with. This was concrete, uncomplicated and simple. The rush of emotions he felt each time he saw them, which was abstract, alien, befuddling and at the moment was crippling him.

Dropping to the floor in pure exhaustion, Derek sat his body unable to withstand the strain any longer. Slumping, resting his forearms on his raised knees he knew he had to move forward. He had to accept and move on.

After all don't all families have their secrets? He had lived a lie with his Mom for years, before she knew what he had faced. Was this any different?

. . .

**Emily Prentiss**

Looking around the blank apartment Emily was disappointed. This was nowhere near as nice as her last one. The one she had called home prior to Doyle's destruction of everything she held dear.

The perfectly neutral background gave Emily plenty of room to start a fresh and recreate her perfect personal abode. She needed to feel at home, settled, safe and secure.

Seven months of uncertainty in enforced solitude had done little to recuperate her. It had impacted on Emily. It had built her suspicions, increased her inability to trust and generally shattered her confidence in mankind. Yet she found herself craving the love of those she had left.

Now she was home, the first place in the world she had called home. Back with those who mattered most. The very people she had endured all of this to protect.

Tapping the cardboard boxes that contained all that JJ had stored for her, Emily begun the task of putting her life back together again.

Opening the first carton marked lounge, she pulled out a selection of similarly framed photos. Each housed a cherished moment from her life. As she begun to arrange them on the modern pine mantel, Emily realised how many involved members of her BAU family and how few her real family.

If only bringing the family back together would be as easy as placing them next to each other again.

. . .

**Aaron Hotchner**

Hotch hadn't moved from his office. In silence he had watched the team gradually leave after Strauss had delivered the Senate's verdict. No-one had been in a rush to separate.

He knew they had got away with this by the skin of their teeth. He also knew that so far the ride had been relatively smooth.

Okay Morgan had flared up initially and Reid had sulked, but Hotch was wise enough to know that they had barely scratched the surface of the emotional ice covering the situation. Start applying pressure and the cracks would soon reveal the raging torrent of the deep waters underneath.

Pouring a large scotch he settled back, contemplating the future of his team. Garcia would be fine now things were apparently back to 'normal'. She would never intentionally rock the boat. JJ would need his support, something they had become use to offering each other in the preceding months. Morgan, now he was unpredictable. Though he had calmed Hotch wasn't certain they had heard the last from him. Emily herself, she was eager to please and would work hard to regain the team's trust. Rossi, well other then the odd sarcastic quip, Hotch could see no problems there. Reid, it's always the quiet ones. He would need watching.

As head of the household, Hotch took his responsibility seriously. He had lost one family through his actions. He wouldn't lose another.

. . .

**David Rossi**

Sat in the corner of the dingy bar David Rossi observed those around him. He loved to people watch; he considered it homework, a way to keep his profiling skills honed.

Staring at the couple in the nearby booth, he smirked at the lads vain attempts to impress the young lady who had accompanied him. Rossi didn't need to be a profiler to register the negativity in her body language. The youngster's over ambitious advances were almost comical, if he hadn't of felt sorry for him. For a moment he considered going over and offering to pay for her cab back while he schooled the lad in old fashion chivalry.

But Rossi didn't want company tonight. He had not wish to share his time tonight, even if it was for the greater good.

David had been in the game long enough to spot a lie when he saw one and he had seen it clearly seven months ago. So Emily's return had neither shocked or surprised him merely amused him. Proving his superior training yet again.

David had never believed Emily's 'death', but he had realised the consequences of the truth. Applying his knowledge, he accepted the deception and played along with the game.

However he wasn't celebrating tonight, rather pondering the consequences of such deceit. As he had learnt years ago nothing could tear a family apart like lies.

. . .

**Spencer Reid**

Sat on his study floor Spencer was surrounded by text. Each a fine example of the impact of lies. He had re-read them all, repeatedly. Hoping to find an answer to his own problems. Just how did he deal with deception?

Spencer had hardened himself from childhood to the worse that human kind could throw at him. However the last few years he had allowed his guard to slip. He had accepted the first genuine friendships of his life. More fool him. Obviously an IQ of 187 doesn't bless you with common sense.

Anger was consuming Spencer, worse than he had ever experienced before. He was angry at Emily for not trusting them in the first place. This was all her fault. If she had let the team help her then the lies would never have been necessary. He was angry with JJ. The one person he had turned to week in, week out, as he tried to come to terms with his grief. Each time she had blatantly lied to him. Then there was Hotch. How was he supposed to trust him? Spencer knew he had to follow his orders, but how could he be directed by a man he had no faith in. Lastly he was angry with Garcia and Rossi who were happy to draw a line under it all as if it was no big deal. His only ally was Morgan.

Spencer stared once more at the text around him. Wondering how he had become such an outsider in his own family.

. . .

**Erin Strauss**

Breathing deeply Erin returned to her immaculate office. If only her life was as clean and tidy.

Sitting behind the glass topped table Erin sighed. She knew how close things had been today. The Senate had not taken her team's renegade action lightly and neither could she.

Erin was willing to admit she had been hard on them in the past. Maybe her professional life was reflecting her personal life. After all hadn't she recently learnt that an overtly strict parent leads to a rebellious child? At least in her personal life only one of her children was taking an obstinate path, rather than the whole team she had to reign in.

Reflecting on the recent private issues she had needed to deal with, Erin wondered if a change of approach was necessary.

Rather than beat them into submission, maybe she should learn from them, infiltrate the tightest team in the FBI. Some invisible force held them together. If she could harvest that, then possibly she could move them forward, keeping everyone happy.

Erin was not one to shy away from a challenge and that was what she was facing now. Pulling her elite team back into a functioning family.

. . .

The only rock I know that stays steady, the only institution I know that works is the family.  
><strong>Lee <strong>**Iacocca**


	2. Proof

**Series 7 One-shots: Proof**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am putting a note on all of my stories to try and let people know that my updates may become a little erratic due to increased responsibilities at work from now until Christmas. I am sorry to do this. Please bear with me. **

**I did this for Series 6 – wrote a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. I am aiming to do the same for this series. **

**This is an alternative to the ending scene – you know the one with the magic pasta that makes everyone forgive and forget (Sarcastic – me! Never). Besides with the heavy elements of some of my other stories at the mo I needed some fun.**

**. . .**

**Prompt**

**Morgan:**You know Rossi you could always give Penelope a cooking lesson.

**Garcia:** Oh My Gosh, that would be amazing, and we could do it at your house.

**Rossi:** I don't have a house. I have a mansion.

. . .

Subconsciously Garcia slowed as she approached the impressive white building. The crunch of the gravel under her car tyres the only sound now audible. Mouth wide open, Garcia crept ever closer to the personal mansion of SSA David Rossi.

"Esther, Baby, please be a good girl for Mama. No oil leaks or other messy incidents, coz I sure as hell can't afford the clear up. I'll be pimping your body to pay for it," Penelope spoke softly as she stroked the steering wheel.

Pulling up beside one of David's vehicles, Pen took a deep breath before stepping out. She looked up at the front door to see David standing in the dark wood doorway, watching her.

"Well kitten, you ready for the culinary experience of your life?"

Pen couldn't help the school girl giggle that escaped her lips.

"Agent Lothario as long as that isn't a euphemism for some the other Italian antics you have a reputation for, I up for anything."

"Good, then for once you are welcome to my liar, enter at your peril!" Rossi smiled taking a step back to allow Penelope in.

Wide eyed Penelope wandered through the immaculate home, trying to take in all the beautiful things that filled the rooms they walked through. _Wow_ she mouthed silently over and over again. David watched in amazement as she shuffled from one space to another her head practically spinning 360, to take it all in.

As they entered the kitchen, David took to one side of the dark marble topped island. Penelope, still doing her best goldfish impression, absentmindedly perched on the tall stool opposite him, her hands gripping the cool surface.

David waited for her to gain her composure. Cooking was an art form, his favourite art form, and like any master his lesson didn't start until he had his student's full attention.

Finally Pen's eyes met his.

"Ready?" he questioned.

Silently she nodded a reply, looking down at the ingredients laid out in front of her. David turned, and then returned, opening a bottle of red as he stepped forward.

"First things first," he spoke softly.

"Uh no thanks, I don't drink."

"Sorry Kitten, did you just say you don't drink? As I swear I have evidence to the contrary."

"It's a long story, but this chick is tea-total."

"Well I am sure you won't mind if I indulge, and should you change your mind feel free to join me," David placed a large ballooned glass by her hand, "In the meantime, is there anything else I can get you?"

"Water would be just fine," she smiled weakly, as the aroma of the heavy red wine tickle her nostrils.

"Now the lesson can begin," David placed the tall glass of water next to the empty wine glass, "first pasta – al denta. Here I have two samples for you to try."

Dave held two bowls of spaghetti for her to take a sample. Reaching out Pen took a pinch of the first bowl.

"Perfect al denta pasta, and now for pasta al Penelope," he smirked, pushing forward the second bowl.

Instantly Penelope could tell the difference, the texture and the taste totally gone in the second example.

"Now I understand," she smiled relaxing a bit, "It has real taste to it, not bland and sticky like my pasta usually is."

"Music to my ears, Bella," he grinned, "So now to sauté the pancetta and onions."

David noticed her nose wrinkle.

"What?"

"Is the dead pig totally necessary?"

Dave took a deep sigh; this was why he didn't do this.

"Cara, you may well be a Goddess behind a computer screen, but in here I am the All Knowing One. My Spaghetti alla Carbonara does not come in a vegetarian version."

"But . . ." she pouted as she folded her arms.

"Okay, before I do anything else would you care to explain to me how long you have been vegetarian, because yet again I can think of several occasions when that was not the case!"

"Not in the last three years, Buster."

Dave paused recalling recent events when the team had eaten together. Then it dawned on him.

"Is this all because of that techno geek boyfriend of yours?"

"Kevin and his family do happen to be largely vegetarian, as do many of his, our friends," Pen spoke matter of factly.

A single eyebrow rose as he took in the information, "You know in all of my marriages I never made my wife change her views to suit mine. I appreciated their individualism, and for the record one of my wives was a vegetarian, so yes I can teach you to adapt the recipe successfully."

Walking away from the work surface he was quick to return with some tofu, which seemed to be sitting in a bowl with, well Pen, had no idea what.

"The trick, I learnt with tofu is it has no flavour, well I never felt it had, so you have to give it flavour. Hence one bowl of marinated tofu for you, I shall be using pancetta. Here," he said passing a large frying pan to Penelope, "Let's cook."

Making her way to stand beside him at the hob top, turning the gas up David waited for the oil too warm. Adding ingredients and talking Penelope though the same stages the two relaxed into a natural rhythm.

"And there you have it," Rossi stabbed a fork into his own creation, "Let's go eat."

Sat at the solid wood kitchen table that David had set out for them, he took a large sip of his wine, savouring the oaky taste.

"So Kitten, you and Kevin, what's the deal?"

Penelope squirmed under his intense stare.

"I, um, I don't know what you mean," Penelope quickly scooped a fork full of spaghetti into her mouth, as she blushed wildly.

"Well let's just say I have missed our 'Man to Man' chats. Maybe you could suggest he calls by to see me sometime soon."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Pen rapidly replied.

David could sense the conversation was going nowhere, so instead he leant forward, making sure he had her full attention.

"Humour an old man for a moment, from my extensive experience, and trust me three divorces leave a mark, don't commit to someone who isn't willing to accept you as you are. If you are lying before, then the lies will only get bigger and more dangerous. Vegetarian or not hurts no-one, but once you've lived one lie the next slips out just as easily, then another, then another."

Penelope stared back at his dark aged eyes, for a moment she believed he was actually reading her inner thoughts.

"You know what; maybe I will have a small glass of wine after all."

. . .

Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.

**Voltaire**

**. . .**

**_Author's Note: BIG ANNOUNCEMENT - THE FINAL VOTING BALLOT IS AVAILABLE FOR THE SECOND ANNUAL PROFILER'S CHOICE CM AWARDS on "CHIT CHAT ON AUTHOR'S CORNER" FORUM. Please take this opportunity to recognize some wonderful author's and their stunning pieces of fic. Voting ends 11/30/2011. Two Amazon gift cards will be given to two RANDOM voters that take the time to vote in ten or more categories. Congratulations to all of this year's nominees. Now, let's all read some CM fic!_**


	3. Dorado Falls

**Series 7 One-shots: Dorado Falls**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am putting a note on all of my stories to try and let people know that my updates may become a little erratic due to increased responsibilities at work from now until Christmas. I am sorry to do this. Please bear with me. **

**I did this for Series 6 – wrote a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. I am aiming to do the same for this series. **

. . .

**Prompt**

**Morgan:** Don't relax too much, you got ten hours of 'Take Down and Arrest Procedure' Training to recertify.

. . .

Emily really could do with being somewhere else, anywhere else to be honest. She was running herself into the ground trying to make good with everyone, and the early Sunday morning commitment was not welcome after the night she had just had.

Last night had been drinks with the girls, caffeine may be off her list but alcohol definitely wasn't, as she proved a little too well last night. Rubbing her throbbing forehead, Emily hoped beyond all hope that Morgan may have had a heavy night and go easy on her this Sunday morning.

The whistling she heard that signalled his arrival indicated otherwise, and managed to bore straight through her thumping brain at the same time.

"You're chirpy this morning," Emily groaned as Morgan dropped his bag by the wall.

Looking her up and down, Derek smiled widely; he had heard that Garcia and JJ were having a night on the town with Emily; this was going to be fun!

Walking towards the slightly ruffled Emily Prentiss, Derek looked like a vulture circling his pray.

"Morgan, do we really have to do this? I mean I understand the importance and everything and I totally get how important this is to you, but . . ."

Before she could finish the sentence she was flat on her back in the middle of the mat.

"What's up Princess," Derek drawled as he squatted beside her, "not feeling up to some tough love this morning?"

Emily propped herself up on her elbows, looking up at her long term partner, there were moments she could completely hate his smugness, and right now was going top of that list. The glisten in his dark eyes matched the multi-watt smile.

"Derek, we don't have to do this now, is all I'm saying."

"Oh we do, Prentiss, we do. I dragged my ass out of my bed that I was sharing with the cutest honey I have seen in a long time. You can at least make a half hearted attempt at matching me, hung over or not."

Emily groaned as she tried to right herself without vomiting on the dark blue mats, suddenly she had the feeling it was going to be an extra long hour.

Standing as upright as she could she levelled her gaze on Morgan's still grinning face.

"Okay you win, you have my full attention. So the focus of today's sessions is?"

That grin just widened, "Well seeing the location I was thinking a little recap on some of the physical restraint procedures."

_Great, _Emily internally moaned, _why__ did__ she __let __JJ __talk __her __into __that __last __Mojito._ Rolling her eyes she faced Morgan square on.

"What you want to start with?"

"How about a little role play," Morgan wiggled his eyebrows playfully, "I'll be the bad guy and you get to restrain me!"

"I guess you aren't going to make it easy for me," Emily smiled sweetly, "Do I get any background first? After all I'm not going being going in blind on a case."

"You can assume all talk has failed, you are having to move in. As you can see I'm unarmed – this is hand on hand."

Emily nodded warily, watching Morgan's micro-movements as she tried to gauge what he was about to do.

Morgan took the time to study her, it was obvious she was well under par this morning, and he almost felt sorry for her. He may even have been convinced to postpone one week, if it wasn't for the need he had driving him.

Suddenly Morgan made a grab for her wrist, with an instinctive twist her wrist was free and she took a step back to distance herself from his reach. Morgan nodded; pleasantly aware that no matter how foggy her mind was, the skill and knowledge over rode all else.

Morgan stepped in for another attempt, getting her wrist with his left hand as his right formed a fist. Emily dropped her right arm, putting her left up defensively. She was aware that Morgan was ruling the engagement, but at least he was not succeeding.

Morgan was enjoying the game, as he made his third advance, again Emily managed to free herself from his grip, forcing her hands up as he released them and in the process catching him off guard as her fist made unplanned contact with his jaw.

"You going to make a move like that you need to be ready to follow through Princess."

"Sorry have we started?" Emily teased.

"Oh right, may I remind you that you are supposed to be restraining me not dancing with me."

"You're the one doing all the dancing, I'm just turning you down, repeatedly," Emily smiled starting to feel a little better.

Derek laughed, then quickly lunged forward both hands aiming at her throat. Emily deflected both, holding his wrists as she got him off balance. A swift jab behind his needs and Derek was down. Emily took full advantage and brought one of his hands behind his back.

"Is that the sort of thing you had in mind?" Emily laughed.

"Better, but we have plenty of time yet."

Emily stepped away, allowing Morgan the room to get up. Again they stood, watching the other willing the other to make a move that they could react to.

Morgan decide he would continue to lead and made another attempt to strangle her. Emily rapidly snaked her hand through his, breaking the tension and pushing him away. As she did, Emily wrapped one of his arms around behind him.

"Think that counts," she whispered in his ear.

Morgan circled round her, making a grab from behind, his strong arm wrapping around her neck.

Emily felt the panic rise in her, for a split second she was back there, with Doyle. Gasping for breath, she brought herself time by pushing a flat hand between her neck and Derek's arm.

Derek felt her body tense against him. He didn't know what but he knew he had triggered something.

"You okay?" he asked; concern in his voice.

Emily nodded, not trusting her voice. With a deep breath she pulled her hand back out and used it to push Derek's arm over her head as she dropped slightly. Stumbling backwards, Emily couldn't look at Derek.

Derek sensed the change in atmosphere, walking slowly over to his bag he grabbed a bottle of water, taking a swig he observed Emily as she rebuilt her defences. Leaning back against the wall, he asked;

"Want to talk about it?"

Immediately Emily shook her head, facing away from his intense stair.

"Em I need to know. If an UnSub gets his hands on you and you freak out I need to know that your response isn't compromised."

"It wasn't compromised. I got you off," she snapped, turning to face him.

"Em," Derek whispered; empathy evident in his dark eyes.

"Look this wasn't a good idea today," Emily made her way passed him to leave.

"Not so fast," Derek reached out, grabbing her upper arm easily. He felt her sag, offering no fight to his action, "Let me in Em, we're partners, we've got to trust each other."

Emily's eyes dropped to the ground, he voice quivered as she spoke.

"It was a flashback, for a second, he had me not you."

Derek needed no further explanation, he knew exactly who she was referring to.

Pulling her towards him, he did the only thing he could think of, he hugged her tight.

"You're safe now Em, you're safe."

. . .

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.  
><strong>William<strong>**Shakespeare**

Read more: .#ixzz1gSGqsUSc


	4. Painless

**Series 7 One-shots: Painless**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Sorry it has been a while, but sitting watching episode 4 again tonight I had to get started on these again. I will be honest I had several ideas for this episode as I loved the inter-team interaction in this one so much. This is what I settled with, I hope you like it.**

**Happy New Year – I hope 2012 is an amazing year for all!**

**I am aiming to write a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. **

. . .

**Prompt**

**Hotch:** So he's reading at a 4th Grade level.

**Teacher: **A-hum, as you can see his scores are high across the board.

. . .

Hotch stood at the window of his office, watching his team going about their business, and a few others things that they shouldn't. Sighing as he saw Morgan's latest attempt to set Reid up, while he was away from desk getting a coffee, he turned away. Hotch knew he should be working hard, not observing the others fool around.

The problem was that he couldn't focus; Hotch glanced at the ever increasing pile of files on his desk. They should have been his focus, but nothing could budge his thoughts from his son. It cut into him that his son was having troubles at school, at that such a young age Jack was already capable of hiding such issues. Sometimes his son was too like him, Hotch thought.

Plonking himself once more behind the desk, Hotch reached for the first file. Dragging it slowly forwards from the others, he flicked it open and scanned the initial information sheet. Hotch knew had had to regain his private composure, before it slipped in public too. As he reached the bottom of the page, he was distracted by a soft knock at his door.

"Come in," he called, as he looked up at the entrance to his solitude, "Reid? Can I help?"

"Urm, yes, I have the consultations you asked for."

"Thank you," Hotch said, as Reid tried to place the files on the edge of Hotch's overcrowded desk, "Pass them here, thanks."

Hotch reached out to take the additional documentation from the hovering agent.

Reid handed them over willingly and turned to leave.

"Reid, do you have a moment?" Hotch asked hopefully, as the younger agent got close to the door.

"Sure," Reid returned to the desk, taking the offered seat across from the stoic boss, "Have I done something wrong?"

Briefly the petty war that he and Morgan were waging on each other flitted through his mind, but one look at Hotch's gently shaking head let him know that was not the case. He was glad as neither man had meant any harm in the pranks, and to be honest Spence was enjoying having something to take his mind off everything else that had happened recently.

"No Spencer," Hotch noticed how the genius prickled slightly at the unexpected use of his first name, "I wanted to ask your opinion of something."

Reid watched as Hotch reached into the black briefcase beside his chair then handed him a folded sheet of paper. With a swift glance over the sheet, Reid was aware that he was reading part of Jack Hotchner's school record. Unsure what was expected of him, Reid returned his eyes to Hotch, a perplexed expression on his face.

"What do you think?" Hotch asked the loaded question.

"Impressive," Reid smiled tentively, feeling the sense of walking into a trap, "Jack is doing well. You must be proud."

"I am," Hotch concurred, "He is also having problems with a kid in his class."

Reid realised why he had been chosen for this particular chat. Taking a deep breath, Reid waited.

"He's becoming withdrawn in class, and then inviting the bully home for tea," Hotch's eyes dropped to his desk, "Spencer I know you didn't have an easy time at school, because of your intelligence, how did you cope?"

Reid finally exhaled the lungful of air he previous inhaled. It was something he never talked about let alone to his boss. His all too clear memories of his schools years were something he tried hard not to focus on.

"Sometimes it's easier to say nothing, then to say something," Reid offered weakly as he leant forward to place the sheet of paper on top of a pile of files.

Hotch levelled his gaze on the young man, overtly aware that his questioning was making him uncomfortable, for which he was sorry.

"I shouldn't have asked, it's just that I don't know how to help him," Hotch reluctantly admitted his own weakness.

"Don't confront them for him," the shot of panic evident in his tone, "let him deal with them unless he asks you otherwise."

Hotch nodded, "The school seem very supportive, I am hoping they will help him much better than I can."

Reid shifted in the chair, hoping that the conversation had come to an end.

"Did you try and befriend the bullies?" Hotch asked.

Reid settled back again, realising his torture was not complete, interlacing his long fingers to physically steady his nerves.

"I tried to ignore them, I tried to befriend them and I tried to confront them. None of which worked," Reid was studying his shoes as he spoke, unable to make eye contact with Hotch.

"So what did you do in the end?" Hotch was intrigued by the background that had formed the person in front of him.

"I couldn't beat them, so I joined them," Reid answered, looking up, an unexpected sense of pride on his face.

Hotch's eyebrow rose, confused by the sudden change.

"I found a cool way to use my mind. I coached the basket ball team. It worked and suddenly I was hero of the hour. Jack needs to find a way to apply his knowledge in a way general society finds acceptable."

Hotch nodded again, the depth of Reid's analysis sinking in. He admired the fact that a kid could come up with such a creative solution to the difficulties that could have crippled him. Reid had obviously always been old before his time, but he had obviously always been stronger than many gave him credit too.

"Now if you don't mind, I have a pile of files to finish, before Morgan adds anymore," Reid said, wanting to finish the conversation before any more awkward questions were asked.

"Thank you; and you may want to take a good look at your chair before you sit down," Hotch added.

For a moment Reid looked confused then it dawned on him; "Morgan?"

"I didn't say anything," Hotch smiled drily.

Opening the door to leave Reid turned to face Hotch once more.

"He'll be ok, Jack I mean, like you, he's not 'a blinker'."

Shutting the door behind him, Hotch stared at the blank space Reid had just left. Returning to the file he's thoughts still with his son's difficulties and what Reid had endured. Trying to process the comments, Hotch changed tasks to blindly signing the expense claims of his team – he knew he should check them, but he trusted them. At least this got something finished and him even closer to getting home to his son.

. . .

Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke.  
><strong>Benjamin Disraeli, British Prime Minister<strong>


	5. From Childhood's Hour

**Series 7 One-shots: From Childhood's Hour**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am aiming to write a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. **

**Was hoping to get this done a little quicker, but I really struggled to be inspired by this episode. I didn't want to do the Rossi/Ex-wife storyline, so decided the whole idea of the characters' own childhood interested me. Then all I had to do was pick a character. It may surprise you who I picked (it did me!)**

. . .

**Prompt**

"From childhood's hour I have not been as others were; I have not seen as others saw."

**Edgar Allan Poe as read by Reid at the start of the episode**

**. . .**

Shuffling together the collection of photographed faces, Hotch was about to close the file that he now deemed complete. The manila card in his left hand paused as the dark eyes of Bobby Smith bore into him from his place on the top of the pile of forms and reports. Though Bobby was a good three years older than his own son, Jack, Hotch could see the same sadness in the eyes. The sadness created by a lost childhood.

Pushing the file closed, Hotch rested his hand on top, as if forcing it to remain closed. Sighing deeply, he looked at the untouched tumbler of Scotch perched on the edge of his desk. Nestled by his collection of photographs.

Each sleek frame held a cherished memento, the Achilles' heel of the strong leader. Pushing aside the drink he had poured out of habit, rather than desire, Hotch took the largest frame.

It contained a photo of Jack, taken barely a couple of months earlier. He was smiling, they had had a great weekend camping. Jack had enjoyed the whole adventure, and Hotch had to admit he had too. Jack was at a nice age; he was active, interested and overtly enthusiastic about all they did together.

It wasn't that Hotch hadn't taken pleasure from their time together in the past. On the contrary, Jack had always marvelled Hotch, the miracle of life. It was more a fact that, now Hotch felt he could finally relate to his son. They had a bond they had not previously had.

Bonding with Jack had been difficult for him. Never because he hadn't wanted to, just he had been afraid to. If he was honest, he hadn't known how to.

Hotch loved his son, he had from the second he had been passed screaming and bundled in a blue blanket into his hands. Looking at the fragile form had made him realise the enormity of the task ahead, and the only guidance he had was how not to do it.

He knew he had no wish to follow his own father's footsteps. A workaholic with little time for the children he'd sired. Hotch's fists balled as he remembered so vividly the times they did share. The childhood memories, which he had kept secret from all.

Hotch had long suspected his mother was more aware then she had ever let on. Sean, he hoped had lived in ignorant bliss, though as they had got older Hotch had silently questioned how much his younger brother had heard.

As an adult he was rational enough to realise that there was no disguising the fury his father withheld. Nothing masked the boom of his voice prior the crack of his open hand as it collided with Aaron's cheek. The anger firing in those eyes, set off by the slightest of errors, as bruises built on his young body.

Shaking his head, in hope to rid it off the scene playing out in his mind's eye, Hotch once more found himself fingering the cut pattern in his whiskey tumbler.

Even now he couldn't stand the smell of brandy, he guessed that was why he drunk scotch. Brandy made him sick, the reminder of his father's rancid breath, plumes billowing out as he held Aaron inches from his face, telling the young boy exactly what he thought of him. Thoughts that had haunted Aaron all his life, the very words etched in his brain as he worked hard to prove each unfounded accusation false.

As his gaze fell once more on the smiling face of his own young son, Hotch was more than painfully aware of his own failings as a father. He had hidden from his fears, working late in the vain hope of providing a better world in which Jack could grow and flourish. The cost of which was the missed time with the baby, then toddler that was now a young boy, the absent time making the relationship strained and distant at times.

A dry smile crept across Hotch's face. He knew he could never make up for the nights away, the loss of his mother, the missed Birthday parties and God knew what else. However he could make the most of every precious minute they had. Not extravagant gestures but by listening, loving, sharing and generally enjoying his company.

Hotch looked once more at the drink, it would be easy enough to down it. However as the glass neared his lips the normal heady smell repulsed him, and he placed it back down again, by the collection of photos. He was not his father's son; Aaron Hotchner was the man he was in spite of his father.

There were traits they unfortunately shared; the perfectionism, the relentless work ethic and struggle to show their emotions. On the other hand there was so much Aaron had learnt from his father's mistakes. He may have a drink, but he could count on one hand the occasions he had been drunk. Aaron had no wish to lose control in such a matter, being acutely aware of the consequences. He had learnt to love, an important lesson, and one he would never forget.

Pushing back from his solid desk, Aaron stood, switching off the lamp and plummeting the contents of his workspace into deep darkness. He left, going home to see the son that he cherished.

. . .

All the time a person is a child he is both a child and learning to be a parent. After he becomes a parent he becomes predominantly a parent reliving childhood.  
><strong>Benjamin Spock, Pediatrician<strong>


	6. Epilogue

**Series 7 One-shots: Epilogue**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am aiming to write a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. **

**Was hoping to get this done a little quicker, but again I really struggled to be inspired by this episode, plus decided to have to do two New Year stories this month. I didn't want to do the Rossi/Ex-wife storyline, so decided to focus my attention elsewhere.**

**I apologise now – I wasn't feeling great when I edited, hope its ok.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Reid (speaking to Prentiss):** You actually died!

**. . .**

Spencer was hovering. Tracing the same path back and forth through his apartment as he tried to process the information he had gained, his long fingers twitching in time with his though pattern.

At the time that he received the snippet of information, it had surprised him; but he then had to hide that away and get on. However now, in the solitude of his small home, the scene played over and over in his mind's eye. His eidetic memory holding her exact words:

"Reid felt a warmth and saw a light. When I coded in the Ambulance all I felt was cold and darkness and I would like to think there is a different future waiting for me."

The moment was replayed perfectly in his mind. Emily's voice hesitant as she shares such an intimate memory with the team, the very people she had withdrawn from months earlier. He pictured her flitting eyes, settling on no-one and nothing for longer than a second. At that very second she had bared her soul, openly and honestly for the first time in over a year.

And what had she received for it, a verbal slap in the face.

Spence physically kicked himself for not holding his tongue. For all his genius abilities he still hadn't grasped the full set of social niceties that dealt with such matters. As everyone else had dipped their head and silenced their thoughts, his had tumbled out. Childlike in their innocence, but had obviously hurt none the less. The pained expression on Emily's face etched in his mind.

In the midst of all that had been happened since Emily had returned, Spencer had never for a moment considered the possibility that Emily had died. In fact since the moment the deception had been uncovered he had lost how badly injured she had been. All he had focused on was the lies, and in his black and white life a lie was a lie, it could hold no element of truth.

How could he have forgotten the hours pacing the same four steps in the crowded visitors lounge? Waiting. He remembered counting every one of those steps, 111,075, the point at which Pen had asked him to sit next to her. He had no idea why – other than Morgan had left for some air. Sat in silence until Hotch had stood and taken over the pacing, giving him a focus point – and so the count had begun again.

They had sat in silence for hours. No-one said a thing, no-one could. Each finding their own coping mechanism – Spencer's was counting and crap coffee.

Until JJ entered. That he remembered clearly, in the short time that had passed since Emily returned he had replayed that memory the most, trying to spot the original lie. He couldn't spot her tell, which made it all the worse that she could deceive them so easily.

However now everything had changed. Somehow knowing that Emily had truly died, made the grief worthwhile, the lingering anger dissipated from him. It wasn't that he wished her dead, but there was a strange comfort in her experience. Something in the realisation that the deceit was based on honest foundations, Emily could easily have not made it off the table and that could have been her coffin.

Not for the first time in his life Spence's thoughts disturbed him, yet there knowing that Emily was somehow a kindred spirit, sharing something no-one else had experienced scared him more.

Grabbing his coat on his frantic return to the lounge, he felt for his keys in the pocket and headed for the door.

. . .

Sergio jumped from Emily's lap at the sound of the doorbell. Grudgingly Emily pushed herself up from her comfort and trudged through to the hall. Noticing the time her senses perked up as she picked up her gun as she went, she hid it behind her back. She was not expecting someone this late at night.

Checking first, she was startled to see Spencer through the tiny spy hole in the door.

Opening it she grinned, "Bit late even for you, isn't it?"

Reid glanced at his watch, suddenly realising he had no idea what the time was. Near midnight it confirmed.

"Sorry, I'll come back in the morning," he stuttered, turning to leave.

"Wait here ten minutes and it officially is," she added, widening her smile at his flustered appearance, "You're here now, so come in. It wasn't as if I was in bed or anything."

Spencer followed her into the house, looking around nervously as he took in her new home. It was the polar opposite of her old apartment. This was stark and clinically clean; unlike the homely neutrals and rich details of before.

Drink, she nodded toward the empty wine glass on the table.

"Some water, please," he said as he shifted from one foot to another, he realised he had no idea what he was going to say to her now he was here.

Sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the white leather seat, Spencer tried to steady his breath. _What had made him rush out so irrationally?_

"There you go," Emily place the water on the smooth glass coffee table between them, as she did the same with her own, "Soooo . . ."

Spencer looked up as her long drawn out word led to silence. His turn.

"Emily . . . I . . . I don't know . . . sorry this is . . ." he tried several times to form a coherent sentence.

Emily reached across the void between them and took his hand, squeezing lightly as she smiled reassuringly, glad he had not pulled away from her touch. She had no idea what had brought the young genius across town at this time of night, but whatever it was she was glad for it. For him to feel he could turn up unannounced like this, Emily knew the bridge between them was finally under repair.

Spence took a deep breath; "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," she questioned, her eyebrows rising in confusion.

"I'm sorry for how I have treated you," his head dropped as he focused his attention on their entwined hands, "I have let my emotions cloud my judgement. I lost a friend and instead of being glad that you were safe, I hated you and JJ and Hotch."

"Spence, you don't have to apologise for that," Emily's voice was soft and cagouling, "What happened was wrong in so many ways, but it was a necessary evil. To be honest I expected worse on my return, I deserved it all."

Spencer shook his head slowly, "No you deserved our support. You went through hell for us and all I could do was throw it back at you. You died for us."

"Technically," Emily suddenly recalled the earlier conversation during the case, "but only for a moment or two."

"Emily, what you said earlier, about your experience. It made me realise that I have been so wrapped up in me and how this has made me feel that I haven't once asked you how you are. After Hankel everyone wanted to help, I chose not to let you, but the offers were there. I didn't show you the same support."

"Spence," Emily let out a huge sigh, "you had to grieve for me, spend months coming to terms with that and then without any preparation you had to face me. You were in shock."

Spencer looked confused; "Is there a way to prepare for finding out that someone you thought was dead, isn't?"

Emily shrugged, "Guess not."

Spencer's shoulders slumped; he was unsure what else to say. He had come to clear the air, to let her know he was back there beside her regardless.

"Emily, I glad you're alive," he finally said as his eyes met hers, holding them.

"I am too," she smiled.

. . .

"Times heals what reason cannot."

**Seneca, Roman Philosopher**


	7. No Place Like Home

**Series 7 One-shots: No Place Like Home**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am aiming to write a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. **

**So, this one is a little quicker than the last, but also a bit shorter than usual.**

**. . .**

**Prompt**

**JJ:** Henry's sick. I'm coming home.

. . .

Padding out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, JJ shifted her 'Go Bag' from on top of the bed with a quick swipe of her hand, she flopped down. Watching the contents spill onto the floor she knew she would regret the action in the morning, but right now she didn't care. Her thoughts were back home, where she should be. Not here in some crumby motel.

Letting out a huge sigh, JJ crawled up the bed and snuggled under the layers. Curled up tight in her surprisingly comfy borrowed bed, JJ let the tears roll freely. Allowing the pitch black room to engulf her, she suddenly felt small and vulnerable. Making no attempt to wipes the rush of tears, JJ wallowed as they dripped onto her fluffed up pillow. Pulling the blankets up tight around her, JJ didn't need their warmth, just their comfort.

Being a mother was harder that she had every imagined. Okay she had set out with the rose-tinted vision of motherhood, so happily portrayed in the gurgling diapers adverts. Yet nothing had prepared her for the emotional and physical strain it would have upon her. That was something that others in the team failed to understand, though JJ had caught the pity in their expressions at times. How could they understand, none of them were a mother?

Yeah Hotch had sole responsibility for Jack, and he was doing a far better job of it than anyone had imagined. Yet it was perfectly acceptable for him to hand over Jack to someone else to care for him. His facade never cracked, at work he was focused and his home life was a world away. Hotch had everyone's sympathy – how could the poor man be expected to do it all alone? However the expectations were different for her.

She on the other hand had to face the views of others. If she worked hard and did well, she was a cold hearted bitch. If she folded and ran home to care for her son, she was weak and shouldn't be in the job. It was the classic 'catch 22' situation and JJ could see no way out.

JJ had no wish to become the next Strauss, bitter and twisted, with no-one left to care for or about her. Her family had learnt to survive without her and her colleagues despised her. Surly their had to be a realistic balance.

JJ was beginning to believe no-one considered how she felt. In Will's eyes she was being unreasonable for wanting a job she enjoyed. Chasing her dreams was selfish nonsense to him. JJ admitted she couldn't begin to understand how it must feel to give up everything and be fully devoured by the role of being a father. No matter what Will thought, she appreciated the sacrifices he had made, but that was his choice. He picked his path; surely she had the right to do the same.

As the still streaming tears continued to drip from her nose and further dampen the pillow, JJ could hear her son's voice. Henry didn't judge her. He was open and honest. Henry told her that he didn't like her going away and he hugged her twice as hard on her return. He admitted he missed her and told her unconditionally that he loved her. Sulked when he was mad at her and laughed when she smiled at him. Their relationship was simple, pure; as a mother and child should be.

There was nothing in this world she would not do for him, but already she had failed him. When Henry had needed his Mommy she was hundreds of miles away busy solving other people's problems. Not sat by his side reassuring him that everything was going to be okay. Not hugging him tightly and kissing his forehead. Would the seizure of even happened if she had been their? If she had stayed as Will asked. Shaking her head violently, she knew she couldn't think like that.

It broke her heart hearing what he had gone through and not being there, and having no way to get there. She had never before felt so guilty and frustrated. At that moment in time she hated herself, and her drive and passion. The stupid bickering over what she should or shouldn't be doing with her life and career seemed pointless. The crazed UnSub, killing to create his own personal Frankenstein was something that didn't concern her. Henry should have been her only concern.

Reaching down from the bed she rummaged around for her purse. JJ pulled out her wallet, slipping out a small photo, she hugged it tight. JJ couldn't see the image, but she needed Henry close.

It was then it dawned on her, what Hotch had always meant by wanting to make the world safe for his son. She wanted the same, to know he was safe and secure, but was this the best way to keep him safe? How much difference did they make? Tomorrow when they returned to work there would be a pile of files waiting. Each file a possible future case.

Was Henry safer with her out fighting the monsters or at home each night defending him from them?

. . .

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.

**Rajneesh, Guru**


	8. Hope

**Series 7 One-shots: Hope**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I did this for Series 6 – wrote a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. I am aiming to do the same for this series. **

**Thank you to all my FB friends for their chocolaty help!**

**. . .**

**Prompt**

**Garcia:** Ok, um, either you let me go with you or you're going to have to forcibly remove me from the SUV. Your choice!

. . .

The dark office was only saved from pitch black by the flickering lights of various slumbering machines. Derek had stopped by Garcia's safe hold on his way home in the vain hope of seeing her before he left.

He was overtly aware of the impact their latest case had had on her and he wasn't about to walk away and leave her to it. After all how many late night calls had she suffered in aid to fix his shattered soul? Watching her walk out of her office, earlier on, ready to face the UnSub head on had scared him witless. Derek couldn't face the thought of losing her, his solace. The thought that he was unable to protect had twisted into him, ripping him apart when he should have been concentrating. This was the very reason things couldn't get personal in the field.

Sighing deeply, Derek was about to turn and leave when he heard a familiar click in the hall way. He knew that sound anywhere. Squinting as he looked at the base of her desk, he could vaguely make out the shadow of the boots she had worn earlier. He should have known Penelope would be back in her heels as quickly as she could. They were as much a part of her as her wacky glasses and brightly painted nails.

Turning slightly Derek leaned against the counter, awaiting her arrival.

Penelope bustled into the room, coffee cup in one hand and a huge bar of chocolate in the other.

"You know you only have to," Derek stopped speaking as he saw Pen literally jump out of her skin, spilling half the scalding coffee over her hand and dropping the chocolate on the floor.

"What the . . . ?" Pen begun, grabbing a tissue before she placed her coffee cup down and sucked her reddened finger.

"Sorry Baby Girl, I came here to see if you're okay," Derek reached forward, kissing each hot finger softly. If only everything was made better with such ease.

"I was, until I ended up wearing my coffee," Pen teased, "What were you about to say before I rudely interrupted?"

Derek bent down and picked up the bar of chocolate from the floor, handing it to her.

"I was going to say that if you need a little chocolate to make you feel better you only need to ask," Derek added sheepishly.

Pen took the bar off of him and smiled, there was no way she could be cross at him, as she knew he had the best of intentions at heart. Besides the guilty expression plastered across his face, made her heart melt quicker than the confectionary in her hand.

"Hunny, there is many forms of chocolate in this world, all of which I love by the way, but tonight only the bitter sweetness of my Hershey Dark will do," she quipped, tapping him on the arm with the aforementioned item.

Derek grinned, "Well in that case how about my couch, you bring the chocolate, I'll supply the red wine and we can be decadently healthy together."

Pen paused spinning away from the screen that had grabbed her attention and facing him.

"Just how do you figure that to be a healthy option?" she quizzed, dying to hear his answer.

"Well," He drew the word out as he took a large step towards her, pulling her into one of his infamous hugs , "Dr Reid has informed me that a moderate amount of dark chocolate and red wine are good for your heart, and when eaten together they have beneficial effects on your mind too!"

Derek lazily traced a finger down the bridge of her nose, only pausing to push her glasses back up, and finishing with a gentle tap.

"Derek Morgan you never fail to amaze me, I never knew you actually paid attention to our resident genius," she chided playfully, snuggling into his broad chest. Maybe he was the chocolate she truly craved tonight, "However appealing as you offer is I really need to get home and spend some time with Kevin. You know how it is!"

Derek's eyes narrowed; "Something up?"

"Not enough hours in the day," Pen shrugged, taking a step back and turning to complete her shut downs, "and too many of them spent in this building. Some days I wonder how JJ manages to be a Mom and do all this, most of the time I can't even manage to pull off a pathetic attempt at a girlfriend. She does her Wonder Woman impression and bags the bloke and the cute boy at the same time."

Noticing her tension as she spoke, Derek came up behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her. Making sure she knew he was there.

"I was worried about you today, you know that?" he said, changing the subject that was causing Pen such unease.

Pen straightened her body leaning back on him as the last of her babies slipped into a peaceful sleep, sending the room into a pitch black, engulfing them into thinking they were the only people left in the world.

"Just a little taste of how I feel everyday Hun, stuck in here waiting to hear you're all okay," Pen spun round to face Derek, proding his chest as she spoke.

"Harsh," he said resting his forehead on hers.

"But fair. Now my personal Chocolate God I am going home and so are you. I'm fine, look all happy and smiley," Pen deliberately over exaggerated her smile, that was completely wasted in the darkness, "we got a result and Monica has an answer. It's not perfect, but I have learnt over the years that this is better than some."

Derek wished there was some light in the room, so that he could judge for himself the sincerity of her words. He knew she was using the darkness to hide in and he could appreciate that. He wished she would let him in, to shoulder the pain with her.

"I just needed to know you were okay before I left. You have been there so many times for me that I have lost count. I would hate to miss my chance to repay the favour."

"Sweetness you owe me nothing. Now scoot and get some sleep, who knows what tomorrow with bring."

Derek pulled away slowly, kissing her softly on her top of her head; "If you're sure."

He could feel her nodding a reply. Backing out of the room he was not satisfied, but knew that pushing would not help. Derek knew she was not alright, but she was okay, and he just hoped beyond all hope that Kevin and a bar of Hershey would add the sunshine back into her smile.

. . .

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.  
><strong> Martin Luther King, Jr. <strong>


	9. Self Fulfilling Prophecy

**Series 7 One-shots: Self-Fulfilling Prophecy**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I did this for Series 6 – wrote a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. I am aiming to do the same for this series. **

. . .

**Prompt:**

**Strauss** – In what world will this be alright?

. . .

Looking around the blankly neutral room, Erin Strauss wandered aimlessly around, taking in her new environment. The overtly plumped and preened pillows propped up on the plain pine headrest. The cream and beige tones blending into each other as she perched on the edge of the soft bed.

As she sat, looking towards the starkly dark navy curtains draped across the night sky, she gritted her teeth. How she hated soft mattresses. A good firm mattress was her choice; she would never sleep in this mush.

The soft glow from the bedside lamp was light enough for her to see the mess she had became, which was why she deliberately faced away from the crystal clear mirror behind her. Everything was spotless, in its place and annoyingly pristine.

The polar opposite of her life!

At this moment her realm had imploded, stratospheric aftershocks rumbling in her wake. Cosmic chaos as her career and family where shattered simultaneously, all the while people were doing 'what was best for her'.

Standing to empty the contents of the bag she had brought with her, the basic 'Go Bag' she had held at work for the rare occasion she accompanied one of her team into a field. She hadn't even had the chance to empty this from her recent trip, she huffed disgusted as she rummaged passed the unclean clothes for the remains that lay at the bottom unworn. Looking up, she smiled a wry smile; this place had better have a bloody good laundry service – her Prada was dry clean only.

Having found a home for her meagre possessions, Erin wandered once more, at a loss of what to do. For the first time in more years than she cared to remember she had nothing. Her life was blank. No files to fill. No paperwork to complete. Hell she couldn't even argue with Henry over the stupidly frivolous things that filled his day since he had retired.

Holding onto the edge of the table at the 'lounge' end of her suite, Erin stared at the perfectly pretty collection of blooms in the cheap glass vase. She was aware of the tremble in her hands as she realised she couldn't even pour herself a drink. Nothing! Her life was suddenly empty.

How had she been reduced to this, a blank face in a nondescript room!

Glancing at the clock that read well past midnight, Erin slouched on the couch, too exhausted to stand, too furious to sleep. The leather bound information file nestled casually next to the pile of general interest magazines. Lifting the cover her eyes glanced over the promises of a 'personalised treatment plan' that focused on her as a 'unique individual with specific needs'. They were right there. She wasn't just anyone; she had fought hard to be who she was. You didn't get to the top by chance – it had cost Erin blood, sweat and tears, literally.

Henry, her faithful husband had stood by her throughout it all. He had had remained faithful, no matter what indiscretions she confessed over the years, usually only done to taut him of his own weakness. She was strong; she had been, even as a child.

The eldest of five, Erin had been the one to shoulder the responsibility of the house while her mother run amuck 'entertaining' whoever she deemed necessary. How she had despised her mother, night after night promising herself she would be better, she would be someone. She was not others plaything.

So Erin had buckled down at school, coming home to care for her siblings then working through the night to get the grades she desired. It hadn't been easy; there were many nights that she had succumbed to exhaustion. That was until she had become stronger, more use to her nocturnal hours. Sleep was a barrier, just something to get over.

It had all paid off. The day she packed her bags and walked out of 'the family home', the slight sting of guilt as little William had sniffed his goodbye. She had no space for baggage where she was going. That was what her family had been reduced to in her steel cold eyes – unnecessary baggage. From that point on it was her against the world. She need no-one and would carry no-one with her.

University, Law School, FBI training - all hell, but all necessary; and each was just another hurdle for Erin to overcome. Throw into the mix 'falling in love' and 'finding the one'. Her Mr Right – the must been seen with accessory, a husband and children. All to prove she wasn't the heartless bitch that her persona presented.

It wasn't that she didn't love her family, per sa, she did. Erin just didn't believe that public gushing was good for the soul. Fawning over your child's every need did them no favours in the long run. Life wasn't going to hand them all they wanted on a plate, so why should she. Look at them now, well David and Dana at least, both of them so successful in their own right. Her lessons had taught them well.

She was someone in this wicked world; Erin Strauss was important. People got out of her way when she stomped the corridors of the FBI headquarters. There was no escaping the fear she could send shuddering through an individual with one carefully aimed glare.

Hooking her feet up, Erin snuggled down on the couch, holding one of the plump beige pillows to her chest.

As the tears rolled, she realised all that she had done, everything she had accomplished was now laid to waste. Erin was convinced she had lost her respect, there was no going back, and so what point was there in moving forward?

In what world was this ever going to be alright?

. . .

Wine hath drowned more men than the sea.

**Thomas Fuller, Author**


	10. The Bittersweet Science

**Series 7 One-shots: The Bittersweet Science**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I did this for Series 6 – wrote a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. I am aiming to do the same for this series. Though it is taking me longer to get through these, inspiration is lacking from some episodes.**

**I played with the idea of a Rossi/Hotch Beth discussion, but having done one recently for the Valentine's challenge I wanted to do something different. So this was sparked from the scene at the end when Ryan died. Sorry this isn't as long as some. I'm not a totally sure I have the medical side of this right anything glaringly wrong let me know as I struggled to find what I wanted to help me write this.**

. . .

**Prompt:**

**Hotch – **Right now Ryan needs his Dad.

. . .

Aaron watched as Jack chased after the ball, running full pelt the length of the pitch. The six year old had his father's determination and drive. Aaron called his encouragement from the sidelines, cheering on the team as they played their Sunday League Soccer game. It had been nearly twelve months since Aaron had taken on the coaching role, with the help of his friend David Rossi.

The very person who stood by his side now, clipboard in hand, commands coming thick and fast. Was it possible that this could really be their first win?

Scooting along the sideline, matching Jack's pace, Aaron winces as the boy takes a tumble after attempting a tackle. Shooting onto the pitch Aaron is by his side before the first scream of pain starts. Cradling his son in his arms as he pulls him up into his lap, Aaron watches as the wrist and arm literally swell in front of him. He looks up at Dave, who nods a silent agreement as Aaron scoops up Jack, rushing him off to the nearest hospital.

. . .

Aaron stood and watched his resting son. He looked pale even against the pristine white sheets of the hospital bed. The doctors had confirmed a clean break just above his wrist. A cast couldn't be applied until the swelling had gone down, so the doctors had made him comfortable until they could complete the next stage.

Wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Aaron needed the comfort. Feeling totally hopeless as he stood against the wall of his slumbering son's room, the tension made his head ache.

"Hey," Dave's tone was light as he entered the room.

Aaron glanced across at the arrival of his friend, who he had called earlier.

"Thanks," he muttered as Dave placed the black bag down beside him.

"How's he doing?" Dave nodded towards the young boy, sound asleep, in the bed nearby.

"They have stopped the pain for now and should be able to put a cast on tomorrow. Then it's the time it takes to heal. I just wish . . ." Aaron let his voice trail off, the regret obvious.

"Aaron, he's a kid. Sometimes they bounce, sometimes they don't."

"I should be able to protect him," the anger flared in his eyes as he looked out the window to the dark night sky.

"Aaron, look at me," Dave's voice was deep and calm, "You cannot wrap him up in cotton wool for the rest of his life. Haley wouldn't have wanted you to either. Someone once told me that things like this hurt the parents a lot more than it does the child and that you will remember that cry for the rest of your life. While Jack, he'll remember collecting the names on his cast and being the hero of the game."

Aaron's head dropped, staring at nothing on the toe of his sneakers. He knew Dave was right, that there was no way of ridding his head of the echoing scream of his son. Yet there was also no way of making life risk free. All he could do was be there to pick up the pieces.

Both men looked up as they heard a muffled mumble from Jack. Dave placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder and squeezed.

"Right now he needs his father, plain and simple. You are his hero, even without the superpowers you seem to covet. Take care Aaron, and I'll see you guys in the morning. You can have all the time you need."

"Thanks," he smiled before walking over to his son's bed side, holding his small hand within his own, settling in the chair for the night.

Dave slipped out of the room, leaving the two together.

. . .

I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us.

**Umberto Eco, Italian Writer**


	11. True Genius

**Series 7 One-shots: True Genius**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am aiming to write a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. This was one of my favourite episodes of the series; I just hope I have done my favourite genius some justice.**

**. . .**

**Prompt**

**Reid:** Do you ever wonder if you lived up to expectations?

. . .

The general hub bub of the restaurant had died down. The waiters were hanging around in the none too subtle hint that may be those who were left may like to make their way home. The large group gathered around the hastily rammed together bunch of tables were blatantly ignoring the fussing around them. They had come out to celebrate the thirtieth birthday of their youngest team member and that was what they planned to do.

As a huddle of trained and experienced profilers they were more than capable of picking up on the vibe, but it had been a long time since they had been this relaxed in each others' company and no-one wanted it to end.

The timing of Emily's return and the enviable bad feelings it spawned created a thunder cloud so thick that the normality of life had been forgotten. In the eye of the storm Dr Spencer Reid had become so absorbed in battling his personal emotions that he had been more than happy to let the event of his thirtieth birthday be forgotten.

So the surprise of a birthday party three months later was overwhelming to say the least. Looking around the table he couldn't help but smile at the unconventional family that he shared his life with.

Conventional family life had long passed Spencer by. Where did convention fit into the upbringing of a child protégé by a Schizophrenic mother? Working through advance classes by day, shared with peers much older than himself, to come home to any level of chaos, depending on the type of day his Mom was having. Growing up with the threat of Schizophrenia, balanced with abandonment issues and unrelentless responsibility is was a minor miracle that he was even close to sane by thirty.

Throw into the mix the bullying he suffered as a child, the physical challenge of pursuing a career in the FBI, the horrors they faced daily and the small matter of a drug addiction that nearly ended everything he had worked so hard to achieve and Spencer started to question how he had reached such a milestone.

Though his mind knew that was not the end of the list! There was the guilt he felt over failing to help Elle. The reoccurrence of the sense of loss when Gideon left, the nightmares of those he didn't save mixed with the souls he had condemned, and then there was Emily!

Looking at her now, deep in conversation with JJ he couldn't help but stare. He didn't mean to but there were still nights that he woke in a cold sweat after recounting the lies that had been delivered the dull grey waiting room. The moment he had been told she had died without the chance to say goodbye – someone else snatched away from him when he needed them most. Watching her, very much alive and animated in her conversation with her friend and colleague, he felt the urge to reach out and touch her, just for that extra confirmation; the chance to prove that this was real life and not another of the vivid dreams that plagued his sleeping hours.

Then there was JJ, the second major crush in his life. He had more than had his fingers burnt with his first, Alexa Lisbon at high school, he was scorched to the soul by her and her buddies. JJ had been the polar opposite. There was no crash and burn with JJ, just the development of a deep seated friendship. That was until the day he had found out she had lied to him. That had changed everything; the dynamics between them were still skewed. Though Spence was open to forgiveness now, he knew he would never forget. Logic propelled him to assign understanding to the events; that was how his mind processed every major event in his life. Yet his eidetic memory cemented each detail for eternity.

Scanning around the group, he came next to Morgan and Garcia and his smile widened. Even now, seven years on, he did not understand their overly sexualised banter and the euphemisms they used baffled him. Yet even he could see the magic they shared, a deep connection that made them the best of friends.

Morgan, the big brother he never had. That guy had an uncanny knack of sensing Spence's mood and Spence knew it. He had no way of hiding from Morgan and if he didn't catch him straight away he would do so later. Once Morgan had locked onto him there was no escape, talking it out was the only option. Then there was the flipside, the constant teasing and jibes. At first Spence had not known how to handle those, he had taken more than a few personally, reminders of his high school days. Stereotypical jocks did not make it onto his friends list. Yet Morgan, no matter what the package suggested, was far from stereotypical. He was formed from life experiences, not some vain idea of what would make him popular. Like Spence, Morgan had found his way to survive the life that was dealt to him. Though they had both trod very different paths, their journey had the same destination.

The ying to Morgan's yang was Penelope Garcia, the ray of sunshine in a very dark place. The smile at the end of a phone and the fairy that knew just when a sugar hit was needed. Spence had never felt judged by Pen. She accepted him totally as he was. He could be his open most geeky self with her and not care about the reaction. She seemed to admire his intelligence, yet equally be able to ground him without too much of a bump. She was a rare gem, someone precious to be treasured and deep in his heart she was.

Hotch and Rossi were sipping a whiskey and talking about something that they obviously weren't about to agree on. The tell tale signs of their light-hearted dispute obvious to all those around them.

Hotch had long been Spencer's mentor, giving up his personal time to ensure that Spencer reached the necessary grade to remain active in the FBI. He hadn't had to do that, it was possible for him to be an agent and not carry a gun, but Hotch had known how important it was to Spence that he was an equal within the team. Yet no matter what support Hotch had given over the years, Spencer struggled to rid his mouth of the bitter after taste of his deception. Just like JJ he was willing to forgive, his logical mind finally over-ruling his emotional heart; yet forgetting that the man you trusted so fully could lie day in day out would never leave him.

Last there was Rossi. God had he tried hard to impress the man when he had started - quoting references from his books, veiled complements as he worked in awe alongside him. Looking back, slightly more maturely, he could kick himself for his star-struck attitude. However three years on there was still something mystical, untouchable about David Rossi. Yes he had accepted the team, but he was still David Rossi, FBI legend (in more than one way).

"You okay kid?" Derek's soft tone interrupted Spence's thoughts.

"Yes, Yes I am," he smiled at the dark skin profiler, who had somehow found his way round next to Spence, leaving the gaggle of girls too it.

"You just looked . . . thoughtful" Derek added, his brow furrowing as he made no attempt to hide the fact he was analysing Spence, "Em told me you were having some _doubts_."

"I was. It's not every day you turn thirty."

Derek huffed, "Yeah I remember it well."

Spencer had to smile, it was amazing that even with his eidetic memory there were times he forgot the age difference between him and Derek. Other times it stood out like a sore thumb.

"Is this the decade you finally stop calling me kid?" Spence asked, facing his friend.

Derek looked down at the Jack and coke in his hand and laughed; "Not a chance Pretty Boy."

They sat in silence for a moment, admiring the team around them.

"So," Derek drew out the word before taking a final glug of his drink, "What were you thinking about?"

"How lucky I am."

Derek turned to study Spence's face, not a word to say.

"Most people have to live with the family they are given, I have been able to choose to live with mine."

Spencer rose to his feet, capturing everyone's attention in his action.

"Thank you, but it's time for me to go home, and by the look of our hosts I think they would appreciate us all leaving."

Derek sat and watched as Spencer retreated from the building, after a round of hugs from the girls. There were still days he just didn't understand the kid, yet he could follow his theories.

. . .

Life isn't a matter of milestones, but of moments.  
><strong>Rose Kennedy<strong>**,** **philanthropist**


	12. Unknown Suspect

**Series 7 One-shots: Unknown Subject**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Sorry it has been a while, RL and taking on more than I should, have been to blame**

**I am aiming to write a one-shot for each episode using a prompt from the episode. **

. . .

**Prompt**

**Emily:** I'm having a bad day.

. . .

The sigh was audible in the silence of her pristine apartment. The clinical cream tones lacked any element of personality; she had meant to ask Morgan to help her decorate the blank canvass of her new home. Yet somehow she didn't feel they had quite reached that point in their reconstructed relationship. Once she would never have considered pausing before asking for his help, but now, now it was all so different.

Flopping down on the soft couch, allowing the over-stuffed cushions to engulf her lithe frame, Emily stared ahead. Her go-bag dropped to the right and her purse on her left, coat still on. There she sat, not moving until the light of the evening dulled through dusk and into the dark of night.

The empty spot ahead of her - her eyes bore into it; was not what she was truly seeing. She was seeing _him!_ The man that still haunted her waking hours, as much as her sleeping, he was standing there – watching her.

Maybe she hadn't had that dream for three weeks – maybe. But that didn't mean he wasn't there, waiting in the wings for the moment when she least expected it.

Waiting for an unexpected trigger – the taste of Scotch, a damp or musky smell or firm hands placed on her shoulders. It ranged from the controllable to the bizarrely incidental.

Watching the crystal blue eyes mocking her from the other side of the room, Emily subconsciously picked at her nails. The action was out of her control. She knew he wasn't real, that he was dead!

Yet he was never far away.

How was she ever to lose him? He had left his mark on her –physically and mentally. The brand on her chest and huge scar on her abdomen stared back at her every time she showered. There was no escaping their presence. But somehow facing the consequences of her actions was worse.

The scars were superficial in comparison to the wounds she had inflicted on her friends.

JJ had stood by her, covered for her and risk so much for her. And in return she had lost the friendship of Spencer Reid. Sure they were talking again, but the trust had gone. He had begun visiting again, but JJ was the first to admit how quickly he left once Henry was in bed.

Then there was Hotch, no-one could mistake the looks Morgan still shot him at times. It was obvious Morgan was biting his tongue, which was nothing new, it just seemed more frequent. To be questioning his superior's decisions every step of the way was concerning Emily. Obviously Hotch was aware and chose to ignore it, but it had to be impacting beyond that stoic exterior.

Of course Morgan hadn't just aimed his anger at Hotch, not initially. Emily was glad she had done so much to repair that particular bridge. Though she would never forget the look on his face when she had walked back into the conference room – honestly she knew she would of hurt him less if she had shot him.

Reid was the polar opposite. Where Morgan had wanted her to literally fight her way into his life, Reid she had to tread carefully with – picking her moments, offering him her friendship, regaining his respect. Emily only prayed that one day she'd gain his trust again too.

How could she forget Rossi? He was always quiet and ever watching, forever not missing a thing. However getting over, under or beyond those ancient barriers was another matter. David Rossi – he was always quick to dish the advice but reluctant to leave himself open to the same treatment by others. Yet since Emily had returned they had talked, open and frankly. Which had surprised Emily at first – how her gentle teasing had turned into something more.

Pen had seemed to be the easiest of all to overcome. However Emily was acutely aware that perceptions can be deceptive. The bubbly blonde had fully embraced Emily's return, but the trained profiler could see the insecurity in her actions. The way Pen asked each week what she was doing at the weekend – and would badger her for the details; and there was no way she would mention the odd little things that seemed have happened in her computer files. There was no way she was going to accuse Pen of checking up on her, but . . .

When she saw her friends, her chosen family, she was reminded of the deception she had caused. Some mornings it came in the surprise look form one – as if after months of accustoming themselves to her death then had forgotten she was alive. Another day it would be a sad sideways glace a she made some comment that reminded them of her departure. On occasion she even did it to herself – some misguided attempt of a joke at her own expense.

Emily had to live with the damage she had caused every day for the rest of her life, and it was days like today that she wondered how long she could continue.

Standing and moving away for the taunting image, Emily made her way through to the kitchen, tossing her coat over a chair as she went. Pouring a cool glass of water she downed it in one. Steadying herself on the counter top, as she placed the glass down.

Would he finally do it, from beyond the grave? Would Doyle still manage to reach out and beat her? Would she submit to all he had done or did she harbour the strength to over-come this and move on?

Emily was determined to win – but today, today she was having a bad day!

. . .

Just because today is a terrible day doesn't mean tomorrow won't be the best day of your life...You just have to get there.

**Anon**

**. . .**


	13. Snake Eyes

**Series 7 One-shots: Snake Eyes**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Can I just start by apologising to those who have alerted this 'story' and been waiting so long for an update. I do not blame you if you have lost all faith in me. My only excuse is I started a challenge story that totally took over my writing time, which combined with hitting the busiest time of year at work for me has meant I have done very little writing. Sorry. **

**I can promise you this is now my main focus – and I will endeavour to update weekly.**

**. . .**

**Prompt**

**Garcia:** What does a girl do when she has two great guys?

. . .

The gentle peck on the cheek was the best Penelope could mange, she felt a little guilty, but to be honest she was beat. Squeezing Kevin's hand she smiled sweetly.

"Thanks Hunny, see you tomorrow?"

"What?" his eyes widening, "I don't get to come up for . . .coffee?"

Pen couldn't help but giggle as he wiggled his eyebrows comically at his own innuendo.

"Sorry Sweetie, but I am full to the brim with coffee. Pulling all nighters to get my Superheroes home means I may have OD'd in the last forty-eight hours. "

"You know I didn't mean that," Kevin whined, as he nuzzled into her neck, "Just a little more . . . you know . . . me and you time."

"Trust me," she lightly swotted him, "I got your meaning loud and clear but this little sex kitten is only interested in hot milk and a cosy place to curl up and sleep."

Watching the pout wipe across his face, his sad puppy dog eyes focusing on her, Penelope hugged and whispered, "There is always the weekend. I feel the need for breakfast in bed, fancy joining me?"

Kevin nodded eagerly, before he placed a gentle kiss on her lips; "I shall count the days."

Penelope pulled away, turning to enter her apartment block.

"Plum Sauce,"

She turned back toward him, "U-huh."

"Love you."

"I love you too," and she blew a kiss before entering the hallway.

. . .

Flicking her fuchsia heels off as she stepped through her door, she dragged the matching flower clip from her hair and ruffled her blonde locks. She ached from top to toe. A long hot soak in a bubble filled tub and then curling up in her fluffy bed was all she desired tonight.

She hadn't been home in days. Instead she had changed and freshened up at work each day, catching short naps in the office. The kind of sleep that left her mind begging for more and her muscles so tight even simple movements were painful.

Staggering through her bedroom to her bathroom, she winced at the state of her bed. Literally as she had left it, covers askew and pillows clumped up together. Looking at it now how did she ever think that her 'Noir Knight' would ever have taken advantage of her in such a way? She felt so silly right now.

Pouring the warm water into the tub, she added a healthy glug of lavender bubble bath _– that should be nice and relaxing_ she thought. Stripping down to her underwear, she faced the now steamy mirror and began mechanically removing her make-up. She sighed deeply, spinning round to turn off the rush of water.

As she did something caught her eye. Reaching into her shower cubicle she brought out the bottle of shower gel, opening it she smiled. Her Chocolate God without a doubt. Giggling to herself she placed the bottle down on the counter. She swore she would never forget the moment he had emerged from her shower on Sunday morning.

Removing the last items of clothing she stepped into her bath, snuggling down in the mountain of bubbles and letting the water soak away her pains.

Closing her eyes she let her mind drift.

Really she couldn't believe how lucky she was.

She had a loving and attentive boyfriend. Kevin - who adored her and would do anything for her. He accepted her fully for who she was, and never criticised her and her geeky ways. They shared the same interests and could sit through various Sci-fi marathons together without worrying that the other was bored.

Okay it wasn't perfect, but who was. She pushed him, she knew she did, and yes on occasion he'd bite back. Who wouldn't? She could push the patience of a saint if she so desired. Pen had no idea why, but sometimes she just had to push, to get a reaction. After all his single most annoying feature was how laid back he was. Sure Kevin came across as this jittery guy, but that was just when he was unsure, and mainly when he had to deal with alpha males like Morgan and Rossi. Really the FBI wasn't the best place to work if you were concerned with facing alpha males as there tended to be one hiding around each corner. But at home with her he morphed into this ridiculously horizontal person, who let her walk all over him.

The problem was they had become 'comfy'. It was safe and easy and neither made the effort the other deserved.

Pen shuddered – they were an old married couple, without the big dress and huge party!

She shook her head, sinking another inch in the soothing water.

That was going to change. They had made their promise and things would change. The giddy feeling they once shared would blossom once more, she was sure of that.

Then there was the flipside - her polar opposite best friend. Derek Morgan. Her hunky stud muffin! The sort of guy that had women falling at his feet, and Pen couldn't blame any of them – who wouldn't? Well the obvious answer was she wouldn't.

She loved him. Without a doubt, but because she respected that love she could never ever risk the bond they shared. It was special, unique. Pen knew she had his trust, his love and his protection. He would literally die to save her if it necessary. He took her sass and threw it back at her. Her moods and sarcasm didn't get ignored, they got turned around and acted on. Derek knew her inside out and she him.

She knew most people could not understand it. Hell there were times she had misunderstood it herself. Letting brief thoughts cross her mind of how different it could be, but being with Kevin she had learnt one thing.

She could never do that to Derek, to them. They could never become boring and predictable.

Rising slowly from the soapy water, she wrapped the fluffy towel around her and plodded through to her bedroom.

Flopping exhausted on her bed Penelope smiled.

After all she had everything to smile about; she was the luckiest woman alive. She didn't just have one great guy in her life. She had two.

. . .

A woman knows the face of the man she loves as a sailor knows the open sea.  
><strong>Honore de Balzac, French Novelist<strong>


	14. Closing Time

**Series 7 One-shots: Proof**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**As promised another chapter as soon as I could. Enjoy.**

**. . .**

**Prompt**

**Hotch: **You okay?

**JJ:** Yeah, I will be. What about him?

. . .

JJ pulled up outside their house. Glancing up at the dimly lit front room, she sighed. Tonight was going to be their first night out in ages. It was going to be an adult evening without bath and bed time rituals. They were going to talk, and not about work! This was all part of the extra they had agreed they needed to make, to have a quality of life they deserved.

Instead she would have to face that look as Will surveyed the damage. He may even come out directly and say it – no matter what they had promised. As yet again _her_ job had impacted on _their_ life. There was no ageing with that and JJ knew it.

Stepping out of the car, and grabbing her stuff, she made her way through the wrought iron gate and up the path to the place they had made their home. Taking the steps with caution, as her muscles started to react to the pounding they had taken, she reached to unlock the door.

Before JJ could insert the key, the door opened. A look of sympathy on Will's face as he took in her injuries.

"I was starting to wander if you were camping out there all night," he soft southern drawl comforting to her ears, as he stepped aside to let her in.

JJ smiled weakly, "Plucking up courage," she replied honestly as she strolled past Will and into the lounge, dropping her bag on the way. The weight being too much for her shoulder to burden.

Without thought she poured herself a drink, the painkillers were starting to wear off and she had at least another hour until the next dose. JJ hated feeling weak.

"I've opened a bottle of wine," Will spoke, leaning against the doorway, watching her every move, "thought you might like it with our meal. I've ordered take out as I guessed you wouldn't feel like going out. Hope that's okay?"

JJ nodded as she swallowed the shot of whiskey in one, the amber liquid burning through her as she closed her eyes. She only hoped it would dull the pain on its way through her.

"Thanks," she said hoarsely, the drink having immediate impact.

"I have also run you a bath, figured you may want one before the food arrives," he nodded down the hall behind him.

JJ smiled, genuinely. It was times like this that she remembered why she loved this man in the first place. He was kind and considerate beyond any call of duty, and no matter how many times and how many different ways she had tried to push him away, he had stood firm. Always looking after her regardless of what she did or said. Placing the glass down, she stepped away from the temptation of another.

Walking towards him, JJ kissed Will gently on the cheek, "Thank you," she whispered, hugging him tight. JJ felt his soft fingers lift her chin; her eyes darted up to meet his, hoping the tears that pricked didn't fall.

"I was worried," he stated simply before brushing his lips over each of the cuts and bruises that littered her face, desperately trying to heal the hurt.

"I know," she answered, "and I'm sorry." She could find no other words.

JJ withdrew from his hold and made her way to the bathroom, striping the FBI T-shirt she had used to replace the top that had been ruined in the line of duty. Once in the bathroom, she looked long and hard in the mirror. It was not a pretty sight. A black eye, various cuts and grazes, she tried to recall the count Spencer had given her earlier, just to save herself counting again.

Earlier she had been proud, but somehow now seeing things in the comfort of her own home it brought the reality of the situation crashing down on her. Yet again her choice to rejoin the BAU was sending shockwaves through her family life. _How was she supposed to explain the way she looked to her young son? How would he feel when he saw her like this?_

Stepping into the warm water, the pine bubbles relaxing her tense muscles immediately, sinking low she let her mind drift. Yet her mind continued to drift back to Hunter.

. . .

Returning to the lounge, JJ had on jeans and one of Will's sweatshirts, relishing in the safety of his smell. She flopped down on the couch next to him, snuggling her head onto his shoulder, she was determined not to start another fight.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Will asked sipping from his glass of wine.

JJ shook her head slightly and grimaced, she didn't really want to talk about it, but she knew she owed Will an explanation. "I had to stop him," she explained.

Will nodded; without saying a word, letting her talk. Ready to listen without judgement.

"I put my gun done to gain his trust. Hand to hand was my only option to disarm him," JJ paused, the scene relaying in her mind, "It's not as easy as the stuff they put you through in the gym."

Will snorted, unable to reign in his sarcasm, "What you mean Morgan never really gave you a beating? I'll have to talk to him about that."

JJ smiled softly, appreciating his humour, "I'll heal; couple of weeks and this is all gone."

"But . . ." Will added, knowing there was more.

"But," she sighed, revealing what was really cutting into her, "I'm not the only one affected by him. He has killed others' loved one and damn near killed the boy he had brought up as his own son. That doesn't heal in a couple of weeks."

Will wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her a little closer, kissing her on the head. He understood, even more he understood why she did the job she did. She returned to the BAU not just for the family unit it provided, but because she is a people person. Just like he remained a frontline cop, JJ had to be in the thick of it.

They both needed to know they had made a difference.

. . .

"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

**Anne Frank**


	15. A Thin Line

**Series 7 One-shots: A Thin Line**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Sorry I was hoping to get this done a little quicker, but I have had to do a little housekeeping on my account. **

**This was a little add on scene I pictured once they got back home.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Morgan:** Out in the field 'sorry' doesn't bring people back!

. . .

Morgan dumped the bag on the centre of his desk, obscuring the files that had collected in his absence. Dropping into his swivel seat he dragged his hands down his tired face. Supporting his heavy head as his elbows rested on his knees, Derek hadn't the energy to move. Not even to turn on the lamp to shine some light in the darkened room.

He was drained. Not because of the physical nature of the case, hell he had had worse. Also there was no doubting the fact that he kept himself at his physical peak. Lack of sleep and unfortunately everything else that went with a case was something they had all been forced to get use to over the years with the team.

He was shattered due the mental strain of coming too close to losing his friend and colleague Emily Prentiss, again! Having, now, two images of her hurting, was impacting him on him deeply.

No matter how hard she covered her feeling with quips and sarcastic jokes, Derek couldn't let that feeling of dread leave him. He knew, no matter what he did, it would haunt his dreams for nights to come. The sleep he so desperately desired would be allusive for some time yet.

Sighing, he closed his sore eyes tight -picturing running back through the house to find her, once JJ had told him she was down. Dropping to his knees beside her, as she brushed away his attention, Derek had been quick to assess the damage for himself.

JJ's words hadn't even registered over the communication system as he had searched the house for Trevor Mills. The adrenaline was pumping. He had been focused on finding and bringing down the UnSub. Derek was determined to protect them both by getting to Trevor first, that's what he did. It wasn't that he doubted either JJ or Emily's abilities, both of them had proved themselves more times then he cared to remember. It was just what he did; it was his role to protect.

But after the take down, everything else hit him!

JJ was about to return to Emily and check she was okay when the penny dropped. Emily was injured. He made the call to split and because of that Emily was hurt. Instantly he began to analyse his actions and decisions.

Leaning back, Derek let his head flop over the back of the chair, lolling from side to side as he tried to clear the image of her sat on the Kitchen floor, leaning back against the glass door. Her bloody arm, partially covered by a towel she had grabbed to stem the flow. Emily's gritted teeth showed the determination – she would not let him see the pain she was in. Pride was one of her sins.

His mind flashed between her sat there, fighting the pain and the image he had of her impaled on a concrete floor, slipping away from him as she gave in to the pain and suffering she had faced. Within twelve months he had failed to save her – twice! How could she ever forgive him?

That was the guilt he was struggling with. It was similar to the guilt he felt over his father's death. After all he had let him down. No matter how many times he had said sorry to his Mom, it hadn't brought his Dad back. No matter how many times he had said sorry to Pen it hadn't brought Emily back.

Of course Emily was different. She had come back, but not because of anything he had done. Emily came home because she could.

Hearing a sound, Derek looked up, a shadow of a figure stood in the door way, the light of the bullpen begin them. He knew instantly it was her.

"Fancy a drink?" she asked as she moved into the room, sitting in the chair opposite him.

Derek shook his head; it was the last thing he wanted. He wasn't finished wallowing.

Emily's eyebrows rose; "You still feeling sorry for yourself?"

Derek glared at her, not liking her mocking tone, or the honesty of her words. "I'm tired" he added defensively.

"So am I, however my shoulder hurts like a bitch, but I have a couple of hours until my next dose of meds so figure a shot might help in the meantime."

Derek shook his head again, determined to head home.

"You owe me," she continued, not letting it drop, as she shrugged her injured shoulder, "got to figure this is at least worth one drink."

Derek knew she wasn't going to give up easily; "Honestly Princess, not tonight," he added his most charming smile to try and throw her off - though his dark eyes gave away his inner turmoil.

Emily leant forward, matching his smile with a sweet one of her own; "I am ready to try emotional blackmail, Penelope Garcia and will even attempt physical intervention, if it gets you out of a dark office and ready to relax a little - whatever threat it takes. I know I am wasting my time telling you that this is not your fault, that Doyle is not your fault. To be honest I feel I could tell you every day for the rest of my life and still you will have that nagging doubt that you could have done something to make a difference."

Derek looked away, rolling his eyes. He had heard this more than once.

"But," Emily stated firmly, pausing for him to look at her, "the thing you don't see is you did make a difference. When you found me I heard every word. What you said to me stayed with me every day I was away. You gave me hope that no matter what I had done I could come back. You did that!"

Emily stood slowly, making her way towards the door. As she reached the frame, she turned to face him; "And when you have thought about that Derek Morgan, you know where to find me."

Emily walked away, leaving Derek in his dark office once more.

. . .

Fear is the tax that conscience pays to guilt.  
><strong>George Sewell, Actor<strong>


	16. A Family Affair

**Series 7 One-shots: A Family Affair**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**So I thought it was time for a bit of fun. Enjoy.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Garcia:** Please tell me we are still on for Saturday night!

. . .

JJ jumped out of the cab and bounded up the steps of the Latino bar hosting the Salsa evening. She was only a couple of minutes late by her watch. Drawing a deep breath she readied herself to face the wrath of Penelope Garcia. Though it was thanks to Spencer Reid she was here at all, which only a few hours earlier was doubtful.

"There you are my petal," came Penelope's dulcet tones, as JJ entered the bright building, before adding, "Well you could have made an effort."

JJ turned to face her flamboyant friend. Pen was dress in a bright pink asymmetric dress with layers of ruffles from her thigh to her knee. Her blonde hair was curled and held up on one side with a matching Flower clip.

"Don't worry," Emily stepped up alongside Pen, to greet JJ "I got the same when I got here."

"Well just look at the two of you," Penelope moaned, eyeing her friends attire up and down, "I have been looking forward to this night for like - forever, and you two turn up in jeans. Well isn't a good thing that I know you both a little too well."

JJ and Emily shared a nervous glance as Pen dived into her sparkling oversized purse with a wicked grin on her face.

"Here goes," and she handed them both fuchsia pink puffballs of flowers identical to her own, "Put them on and then we can go and have some fun."

JJ and Emily giggled as they fixed the clips in their hair and followed obediently as Pen wiggled her way, on silver platform heels, into the main hall.

Inside the dance floor was heaving with bodies grinding against each other, moving to the beat of the music, while a few stood or sat around the edge enjoying a drink or chatting.

Emily rolled her eyes; "Are you sure this is such a good idea?" she questioned as she watched the people in front of them.

"Oh yes," Pen buzzed, her eyes sparking in flashing lights, as she grabbed Em's arm to stop her escape, "The lessons here are informal and fun, we can have a drink and relax then join in when we want to."

"Well the drink sounds like a fab idea – cocktails girls," Emily spoke as she stepped towards the bar, picking up a menu card and glancing over the contents.

"What are we after? Green Fairy, Singapore Sling or how about some Hanky Panky?" Emily read suggestively from the list.

"Well as a Fairy Godmother, it has to be a Green Fairy for me," Pen spoke over her shoulder as she watched the pulsating dance floor, swaying slightly with the beat.

"Three Green Fairies it is then," Emily leant over the bar, waving, trying to get the attention of the steward.

"Wait Em, maybe just a beer for me," JJ grabbed hold of her arm, halting her friend.

"Nonsense, Spencer will be just fine, relax and enjoy yourself," Emily smiled, still seeing the funny side of Reid offering to babysit and knowing how nervous JJ would be about it. It wasn't that JJ didn't trust Spence; it was just the havoc a small child could cause with the naive innocence of Dr Reid.

. . .

"What do you say to we join in the next one?" Penelope pleaded, returning from the toilet and sitting down by her friends.

"Okay," Emily and JJ said in unison, placing their drinks down.

Penelope clapped her hands before lifting her glass for another sip, glancing up she added; "Oh and look here comes something tall dark and handsome. Looks like we have a solution to our 'three can't dance at the same time' issue."

"Penelope," Emily ground out the word through gritted teeth, watching the approaching male, "what have you done?"

All three ladies smiled sweetly at the man as he hesitated a few tables away.

"Just found someone more than a little willing to accompany you on the dance floor this evening," Penelope smiled proudly.

JJ laughed. Pen never gave up trying to set Emily up, so why should tonight be any different.

"Don't worry Hunny," Pen whispered, patting Emily's leg "I did a quick cyber check in the loo, he'll be fine for this evening, but if you like him I can find out so much more tomorrow for you."

Emily sighed and rolled her eyes, knowing she had been set up, again.

"Hello Emily," the dark haired man smiled as he reached their table, glancing at a grinning Penelope who had introduced herself earlier when she had spotted him watching Emily, "Care to dance?"

"Of course she does," Pen answered before Emily could open her mouth. Pen gave Emily a little shove of encouragement; "Off you go Hunny."

Emily looked at JJ and pleaded silently for support.

"You have fun you two," JJ grinned, finishing off her drink.

"And we will too," Pen added, grabbed JJ's hand and stood, "Come on time to dance."

. . .

Stumbling out of the building, no-one was sure who was supporting who as they made their way down the steps to look for a cab.

"That was soooo much fun," JJ laughed, leaning onto Emily "We are so doing it again next month."

"Ah without a doubt," Emily hiccupped before continuing, "but please next time can we stay purely girl on girl, as I swear one more attempt at seduction by 'Mr Octopus' and would have had to practice my take down procedure in public."

"Take down huh?" Pen giggled uncontrollably.

Emily gave her a little shove, which made her wobble precariously closed to the pavement edge, before Emily caught her again, looping her arm through her friend's arm.

"Trust me, it wasn't an innuendo, I was ready to kick his butt," Emily clarified.

"You see Em this is why you haven't got your very own 'Baby Beau'; you are just way too harsh. What you say JayJe?" Penelope asked.

"Totally," JJ nodded overly enthusiastically, her flower clip drooping.

"Yeah, coming from you who gave Will the run around," Emily sounded surprisingly serious as she looked at JJ.

"Treat 'em mean, and keep 'em keen, and trust me he's keen," JJ smiled wickedly.

"Uh please," Emily spluttered incredulously, "you have spent too much time with Derek Morgan. Think I'll have a word with Hotch about me getting my partner back as he is obviously a bad influence on you and I'm the only one who can handle him."

"Em, you do not have the monopoly on handling Derek Morgan, after all his is a pussy cat in my hands," Pen purred, stroking her own arm as her eyes glazed over.

"Yeah and how does Kevin feel about that these days, is he still having weekly therapy?" Em's tone was sarcastic.

"Low Emily, Low; even for you," Pen swotted her friend arm, "Kevin fully understands they Derek and I have a pure and platonic friendship that reaches a higher plain than other mere mortals."

"There is nothing pure about Derek Morgan," Emily snorted, tripping slightly over nothing, before righting herself.

"Well it's clear you don't know my Chocolate God as well as you thinks, Missy," Pen scolded.

All three continued to giggle as they shuffled into a cab home.

. . .

Oh yes its ladies night and the feeling's right

Oh yes its ladies night, oh what a night

**Kool and the Gang**


	17. I Love You, Tommy Brown

**Series 7 One-shots: I Love you, Tommy Brown**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**So I had two ideas for this episode, and I am going to write them both. This one is Kevin based and I hope it works as I don't think I have written more than a line or two for him before. **

**However there will be a fun Morgan/Garcia story based around an art class too! Look out for it.**

**I am back to work next week so my updates will become weekly from now on (unless I find a spot of spare time!).  
><strong>

. . .

**Prompt**

**Lynch:** No matter how much therapy I've gone through to try and understand your relationship.

. . .

Kevin sat down on the edge of the familiar brown couch, his unusally dark and solemn shirt making it easy for him to blend into the background. Straight away she noticed the difference in him, something she hadn't seen since they started. He hadn't been like this in a while. In fact she hadn't seen him in months. She had felt he had come to terms with the issue that had concerned him.

Obviously not!

"Kevin, it is a pleasure to see you, but I am a little surprised," Dr Patricia Hyde spoke softly as she settled herself opposite him.

"You said I could come back whenever," Kevin's eyes shot up from examining the carpet and pleaded over the rim of his glasses, he obviously needed her help.

"Of course," she smiled reassuringly, concern growing, "my door is always open. So how can I help?"

"She said no!" was all he uttered, his gaze dropping back to the floor and the fascinating carpet.

Dr Hyde flicked patiently through her notes as she drew in a slow breath. 'She' had to be Penelope Garcia, but what has she said no too?

"What did Penelope say no to Kevin? You need to tell me more if I am to help, and I do want to help," she looked directly at him, willing him to meet her gaze.

"I asked her to marry me and she said no," he muttered.

"Did she say why?" Patricia scribbled rapidly on her notepad as they spoke, "Did she give a reason?"

Kevin begun to shake his head, then glanced up. He was being unfair, she had given a reason, just one he hadn't been prepared to hear. Her reason had made no sense to him at the time, or now. A half hearted reason in his eyes. However he hadn't stopped thinking about it since, which was why he was here, hoping to make sense of it all.

"Yes, she tried to explain, but . . . "his voice trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

"But what, Kevin?" Patricia calming voice encouraged him, trying to draw out the information.

"But it makes no sense, I mean I don't understand what she said," frustration evident in his tone as his hands came up to either side of his face.

"Tell me what she said, and see if I can help you to understand. After all I am a woman and, don't tell my husband I have admitted this, but we don't always explain things in a 'male friendly' way," she smiled.

Even Kevin had to grin at her humour, it was one of the things had liked about their sessions before.

"She said that she liked things the way they are now. She liked us having our own space, and that when we came together, well she didn't want to ruin that," his mouth twitched nervously as he wrung his hands, recounting the moment.

"U-Huh," Dr Hyde nodded, before asking "anything else?"

"I told her that getting married wouldn't ruin us but she insisted it would," tears rimmed his eyes, magnified by his glasses.

"Penelope obviously appreciates the special bond you two have," Patricia lowered her notes as she leant forwards towards Kevin, trying to engage him fully, "Remember the work we did on what makes you two special. That was quite some list of things that you two shared that she didn't share with anyone else."

"But it means nothing, she still isn't 'ready' to marry me," Kevin spat out bitterly.

"Penelope said that, that she wasn't ready to marry you," Patricia leant back, chewing on the end of her pen.

"I asked her if she was against marriage or against marrying me, and she said she just wasn't ready. What does that mean?" he shrugged his shoulders.

"Interesting," Patricia said as she jotted down more notes, scribbling away freely, "then what happened?"

"I told her I was ready and walked away," Kevin added flatly, realising how heated their exchange had become.

Patricia sat quietly for a moment, thinking things through; "When was this?"

"A couple of mornings ago," he answered; confusion on his face.

"You proposed in the morning, original," Patricia added, shuffling in her leather chair.

"Urm . . ." Kevin paused, "I didn't actually propose," he said sheepishly, suddenly examining the plain carpet again.

"You didn't. Then what actually happened?" Dr Hyde was intrigued, moving forward.

Kevin gulped uncomfortably, "Penny caught Derek and I talking a few days before, I was asking his advice, you know as her best friend and all. Like you suggested we should find a common bond. And well I was arriving at work, she was leaving and we bumped into each other and she had guessed that I was going to propose and boom we discussed it there and then - which ended with her in tears and me stomping off like a two year old."

"So from what I can understand, Penelope hasn't said no, she has just said not yet. Am I correct?" Patricia reaffirmed.

"I . . . well," Kevin paused, thinking about what Dr Hyde had just said, it sort of made sense - though that didn't make him happy.

"Kevin, it is obvious that you are hurt by what you have interpreted as a Penelope's rejection," she explained gently, "Yet from what you have said she hasn't actually rejected you, rather deferred you. Obviously I don't know Penelope, but looking back through our previous conversations it is clear that she has some issues of her own that she has found a way of dealing with. I would suggest that she has further to travel in her journey."

"But, I want this now," he said petulantly, "I am ready to call her Mrs Lynch. I want little Lynches and home for our family. I have needs too."

"Yes Kevin you do, but you have to respect Penelope's life journey too. This is a mere bump in the road that in years to come you will look back at and smile about, maybe even laugh, if you give her chance. Give Penelope time," Dr Hyde smiled sweetly.

Kevin sighed, "I haven't spoken to her since . . . well you know, since I walked away."

"It's not too late to," Dr Hyde continued, "it is reasonable that you needed sometime to process what she said. Why don't you think about making the peace and seeing how things go? I could suggest joint relationship counselling, do you think Penelope would be interested in that?"

Kevin shook his head, "I don't know," it was not something he had thought about suggesting.

Patricia glanced at the clock, realising it was the end of their session. She gathered some leaflets and passed them to Kevin; "Think about things and please book back in to see me next week so we can discuss this some more."

Kevin stood awkwardly and shook Dr Hyde's hand. As always she had given him plenty to think about.

. . .

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.  
><strong>Mignon McLaughlin, author<strong>


	18. Foundation

**Series 7 One-shots: Foundation  
><strong>

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I am focusing on these now and not writing anything until they are finished. We try and update weekly.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Morgan:** Man, that's a lot of scars here.

**Rossi: **and those are the ones we can see.

. . .

Back in his hotel room Derek Morgan flicked aimlessly through the selection of TV channels, as he lolled on the bed. The team were not travelling back until the morning and had all been instructed to get a good night's sleep.

The problem was a good night's sleep doesn't come on command; that was something Derek had learnt a long time ago. Long before the BAU troubled his dreams.

Derek had started losing sleep when he was ten. The first of the nightmares had replayed his father's last moments. Even now, just over thirty years on he could see him lying on the floor the blood slowing pooling around him. He could remember crawling over from where his father has shoved him, roughly, as he had realised what was happening. He could remember sobbing over the body as police had prised him off. Wanting to protect his dead body from strangers in the way he had been unable to in life.

The night before the day his father died was the last full night's sleep Derek had ever had.

Since then it had been a case of quality or quantity - which varied so much. Some nights, after a heavy case, he would sleep for twelve solid hours. But those hours would be disturbed by images that had plagued his waking hours too. He would toss and turn and wake exhausted. Other nights it may only be an hour or two, but in those few deep hours nothing bothered him. For a short time he was at peace.

Unfortunately quality and quantity never seemed to collide.

Closing his eyes as he slid down the bed, trying in vain to make himself comfortable, Derek sighed. He knew it would be a long time until Angel left his mind. The young boy had touched a raw nerve. One, that no matter how hard he tried to bury it, would lay dormant under the surface. Then when he least expected it would rise to claim him once more.

Carl Buford had been his bogeyman. The monster that hid in the shadows waiting for him to close his eyes so that he could terrorises his sleep in the same way he had brutalised his only safe haven.

The Community Centre had meant to be his way out of the life he had fallen into. It offered him a focus. A saviour!

Carl had welcomed him in, drew out his talents, and encouraged him. Derek felt worth, like he hadn't since the day he had watched his father take his last breath. His life held meaning. No longer was he destined for the gutter. Instead he could be someone. And that someone could be a long way away from the streets that had taunted him.

At least that part of the dream was never swallowed up by the nightmares. Derek Morgan was someone and that someone had lead him well away from the tough Chicago neighbourhood he had once called home.

Derek Morgan was who he was not because of Carl Buford, but because of what he had done.

Years of abuse had left scars, nothing physical for others to see, but they were there none the less. Just as Angel may recover, and the surface may heal, the deep cuts that have torn at his sole will remain. No longer bleeding, but still weeping.

Angel would learn to bury what had happened, if not for his own sanity then for that of his family. After all who wants to see their mother cry for them? Every child wants their mother's joy and smiles. Those proud expressions from his mother had fortified Derek for years, drawing strength from her to continue.

Seeing his mother cheer him on as he played his heart out for his scholarship, had kept Derek going through it all. No matter what Carl tried, no matter how much it tore him apart, he would never let him win. Never!

And that was the one thing he hoped Angel held onto and took with him. Derek hoped that when he flicked the challenge coin Angel could take solace in the fact he is not alone and never will be. That Derek had recognised a fellow comrade and offered his assistance. He prayed that Angel would remain strong enough not to attempt to take his own life again.

Derek switched off the TV, the room going dark. Turning on his side he faced towards the blind cover window. Derek was exhausted, having sat night and day with Angel, yet he wasn't tired. Sleep was avoiding him as he lay in the darkness.

Getting up he threw on a t-shirt with the jogging pants he wore, and shoved his feet in his sneakers. Leaving the room quietly Derek made his way out into the night, hoping to find solace in physical exhaustion as he went for a run.

. . .

Sat in the bar, single malt scotch in hand, David Rossi had watched his young colleague leave. A flick of his wrist allowed him a glance at the time. He took a final sip as he contemplated the situation.

It didn't surprise him, other than it had took longer than he expected. Dave had expected fall out from this one. He had seen how personally involved Derek had became. He knew the scars Derek worked so hard to cover.

The problem with Derek was there was no getting close to him, and Dave respected him for that. However it didn't mean that he didn't need someone to look out for him. No matter how tired he was Dave would not move until he knew Derek was back.

Pushing his empty glass forward, Dave ordered another. It may be a long night.

. . .

Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.  
><strong>Khalil Gibran, artist, poet and writer.<strong>


	19. Heathridge Manor

**Series 7 One-shots: Heathridge Manor**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**I found this episode really difficult to find a prompt for, I knew it had to be a Reid story and after watching the intro scene had the idea of his childhood with his mother and deciding to have her institutionalised. Then the quote below popped up later and I was reminded of Coda in Series 6. Hope that explains where I am coming from.**

**The italics are snapshots from his dreams – some from my imagination and from past episodes of CM. Thank you to those who helped me track down what I needed.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Reid:** He's not worshipping the devil; he's trying to fight him.

. . .

Slowly turning the key, Spencer let himself into the eerily dark apartment. Without bothering to flick a switch, he made his way silently into his home. Leaving his 'go bag' in the narrow hallway, he shuffled towards the lounge. As he turned on the old brass desk lamp sitting on the table, Spence threw his satchel over the back of the couch and onto the leather seat.

Leaving everything as it was he head straight to the kitchen and poured a large glass of ice cold water from the jug he kept in the fridge. Spence had felt the start of his current headache as the team had boarded the flight home. He had tried to sleep and ward it off, but to no avail. Now the slight throb had developed to a heavy pounding. They were less frequent now a-days, but when they hit it was with force.

Sipping the cool drink, Spence held tightly onto the sink for physical support. He felt weak; his body was ready for sleep even if his mind wasn't. Tentively he made his way to his small bedroom and lowered himself onto the bed, leaving the water on the bedside table.

The room was pitch black, previously this would concern Spencer, but it was a fear he had needed to face in order to survive the pain. Darkness dulled the ache behind his eyes and the pain was far worse than any imaginary evil lurking in the shadows.

Trying to make himself comfortable, Spencer stretched out sleepily, still fully dressed. Closing his eyes in desperate need of the recuperation, he prayed for the release of sleep. It was not long before his body succumbed to the night and received its well earned rest.

However his mind did not find such peaceful solace.

Instead it was racing through a flurry of razor sharp images and memories. The deepness of his sleep sent him into a comatose state, where his subconscious played freely, releasing anything and everything he had tucked away. His personal collection of demons danced freely.

_Tucked up in his mother's bed, listening to her calming voice as she read to him, Spence felt peace. Though how long for, he knew only time would tell. He should be leaving for school, though catching up on a class or two was easier that upsetting his Mom. Writing his own notes, forging his Mom's signature was easy enough. He could find another excuse. _

_Watching her frantically searching the house for something that didn't exist, Spence knew there was no way of halting her. Though he wished, so desperately to appease her frantic mind, instead he walked back into the kitchen. Reaching up into the top cupboard it didn't take a genius to realise that she hadn't taken her meds, again. Standing in the doorway, Spence wondered how much longer he could deal with this, when he would have to admit defeat and accept that someone else could help her better than he could. Slowly he stepped forward ready to do battle over the meds. _

_Standing helpless, he watched them lead her away. Frozen to the spot where he had explained to his Mom that she needed help. The same spot that he had stood on and watched her bite her lip nervously as she had begun to cry. 'Sorry' had seemed so pathetic as she turned to him and spoke "Spencer, please don't do this to me." But what else could he say, he was sorry, so sorry, that he couldn't care for her any longer._

_Hovering in the doorway, he watched her filling in her journal. She seemed at peace and he didn't want to disturb that. Instead he stood and watched, observing from a safe distance. In the end he chose to leave, not even the doctor could prompt him to disrupt her. _

As he slept Spencer face displayed the emotions he was struggling to contain and the disappointment at his own cowardice. He could face a serial killer, but he couldn't face his Mom and her condition head on. The searing pain, shooting through his head, jolted him awake, before he curled up in a ball to try and protect himself from everything his mind contained.

Maybe Julio Ruiz had been right over a year ago, maybe his head was splitting open from the demons it contained. Was it normal to be mentally tortured in such a way?

All he longed for was a peaceful night's sleep - one without a constant stream of nightmares that broke through the silence he deserved.

Slowly he sat up, reaching for the glass of water and sipping tentively. Resting his head back against the wall behind him, he glanced at the clock as he considered calling the one person he knew would understand. He had barely been asleep an hour, it was not too late, yet still he hesitated.

Reaching for the phone on his bedside table he punched in the memorised number and waited, listening to the ringing tone.

"Yeah," came a groggy reply from the other end, Spence had obviously disturbed him.

"I'm sorry," Spence whispered into the phone.

"Reid, you ok?" there was now alertness in the voice that hadn't been present before, "Want me to come over?"

"Please, if you don't mind," was all he could manage.

"I never mind, Kid, I've told you that before and seeing you do a pretty good job of remembering things it is about time you kept that one in your head," though Derek's tone was one of concern rather than annoyance.

"Thank you Derek."

Spence put down the phone and waited. He hated asking for help but sometimes he didn't know how he could get by without Derek's understanding. Sure Derek teased him, but he had also listened to him. He was only person left who had maintained his trust. After the deception surrounding Emily, Derek was the only one Spence still had faith in.

But it went much deeper than that. Derek had made him realise that he wasn't a freak, that he wasn't the only one with issues, he wasn't the only one to lose sleep because of the job they did or the history that had made them who they were today. To look at Derek Morgan you would never consider he had been bullied and abused. But he had.

On the surface they may be very different, but scratch that surface and the similarities became glaringly obvious.

Curling up once more, Spence shut his eyes, the peace of knowing his friend was on his way made everything bearable.

. . .

Above all things let us never forget that mankind constitutes one great brotherhood; all born to encounter suffering and sorrow, and therefore bound to sympathize with each other.  
><strong>Albert Pike, attorney<strong>


	20. The Company

**Series 7 One-shots: The Company**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Sorry if you were expecting a Morgan/Garcia for this. I have read a few great one-shots with those two from this episode – so they are out there to be found. However personally I couldn't get an idea out of my head that I shared with Nebula back when I did the chapter for 'Self-fulfilling Prophecy'. We discussed the trust between Morgan and Hotch being broken. However in this episode the prompt I have chosen I think builds a bridge between them.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Morgan:** Look I need to come clean about something. I lied about someone being dead.

. . .

Morgan hovered on the familiar walkway, his 'go bag' slung over his shoulder. It was early, but he knew Hotch was already in and that this would be the best chance he had to catch his boss before everyone else arrived.

Derek had come in early to try and get on top of what he had missed while he had taken extended leave to help his family welcome Cindy back into the fold and at the same time introduce Anthony to the relatives he never knew existed. However he was unable to focus on work, yet.

Sighing deeply, Derek stepped up to the half open door. Knocking once on the flat surface, he waited for an invitation in. Standing and waiting he was hoping that Hotch could help him with the one thing that troubled him most.

"Come in," was finally offered, after an appropriate pause. Hotch was obviously completing something before giving attention to a visitor.

Morgan made his way in, a little hesitant compared to his normal swagger. Then he waited to be offered a seat, an unusual nervousness to his actions.

Hotch was behind his wide desk, a mass of open FBI stamped files in front of him. His lips straightened into what Morgan knew was his version of a reassuring smile, before Hotch indicated he should take the chair opposite.

Morgan sat softly, releasing his bag to rest beside him on the floor. He interlaced his fingers as he tried to decide where to start. Glancing around the minimalistic office as his mind settled.

"I am a little surprised to see you in this early," Hotch started for him, the discomfort obvious in his colleague's features, "Weren't you arriving on the late flight last night?"

Morgan nodded, unable to find the simplest of words to express his troubles.

"Is everything okay?" Hotch asked, concern furrowing the brow of his normally stoic face as he watch Morgan move restlessly in the chair.

Morgan nodded again, but this time it was accompanied with a sigh, as the nod morphed into a shake of his head. Resting his head in his hands Morgan had come here to speak to Hotch about the one thing he knew they shared: an ability to deceive those closest to them. However now he was here the topic was not as easy to initiate.

"Can I help?" Hotch asked, watching the younger profiler drag his hands down his weary face, wiping the agony of emotions aside.

"When I told you, you never judged me," Morgan's head lifted as his eyes settled on his superior once more, "In fact you asked if that was it. As if I had told you I had forgotten to file a report, not that I had just admitted I had spent a year lying to my whole family. You never judged me."

Hotch huffed slightly, knowing instantly what was being referred to, "I could hardly judge you, when I had done the same thing."

"That was different," Morgan snapped as he replied a little too quickly, "what you did. We are not your family and you were protecting us and Emily. Without that lie anyone of us could have ended up dead."

Hotch's head dropped, as he carefully thought through his next comment, "You are wrong. You are my family and yes I was protecting you, just as you were protecting your family. Just the risks were different."

"I understand that, I don't like what you did, but I can understand it," Morgan's head dropped once more, unable to meet Hotch's eyes as he spoke, "But I was so quick to judge you. I was ready to shoot you down every chance I got. I couldn't trust you and I knew I needed to, to be able to work with you. I made that judgement knowing that a few months before I had faced my Aunt and lied to her."

"You did it to protect her, to relieve her suffering," Hotch added with some sympathy.

"I know, but that doesn't make it any easier. Seeing her look at me, seeing them all look at me in that way," another drag of his hands down his face as he leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "They know I gave up."

Hotch could fully understand the turmoil his colleague was going through. He could remember only too clearly the looks he had received from Morgan and Reid after Prentiss had returned. Sure it had subsided, but he often wondered if he had fully regained their trust, or just that they had accepted the now truth of the situation. Either way the impact it had had on the team had caused him a lot of concern.

"It gets easier, they will forgive you," Hotch offered softly, trying to ease the suffering.

Morgan raised his gaze, "Really," he questioned with a lift of an eyebrow, no believing the words he heard, "Coz I saw no sign of it before I left. Sure they were speaking to me, but the glances, the whispered conversations, the tears I have caused. I can't ignore that."

"Do you need more time Derek?" Hotch asked softly, deliberately switching to first names to try and reassure.

Derek answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders, "Will it make it all okay? Will it change what I've done? Take back the stupid things I said? No!"

Hotch's eyebrow twitched at the renewed anger in Morgan's voice. He wanted to make it all right of his colleague, but knew from personal experience that time was really the only way to heal this particular wound. It was the only thing that had saved the team of the last few months.

"How's Cindy?" Hotch asked quickly.

Derek's eyes narrowed, surprised by the sudden question.

"She's . . . she's adjusting well," Derek paused, "She is strong, much stronger then _he_ gave her credit for. None of us can image what she went through, none of us want to. We are just so glad to have her here again. We all thought she was dead."

Hotch nodded, "When Emily returned you forgave her. You accepted her back because you thought you had lost her. She became the focus of your attention. It wasn't until sometime later you began to process what had happened. The lies, the deception, JJ and I – we had to wait until you had come to terms with Emily. It is the same for your family. They will come to terms with what you did, once they have had time to deal with Cindy returning and Anthony joining them."

Abruptly Derek stood, swooping up his bag in his large hand as he did so, nodding his head towards Hotch; "Thanks."

"You sure you're okay?" Hotch asked, before Morgan could leave the room.

"No, but I will be," Derek answered.

Pausing by the open doorway, Derek turned back to his superior, "Hotch," he waited for his boss to look up before he continued to speak.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"I know, and for the record so am I," Hotch looked Derek directly in the eye, "I am sorry I had to lie to you all."

Morgan left, making his way towards his own office and the normality of day to day life, without saying another word.

. . .

Time heals griefs and quarrels, for we change and are no longer the same persons. Neither the offender nor the offended are any more themselves.

** Blaise Pascal , French inventor**


	21. Driving Road

**Series 7 One-shots: Driving Road**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Though I wrote this prompted by Episode 21, I have recently watch the final ep again and was struck by the conversation Emily and Derek had at the house at the beginning (don't know how I missed it the first time), so that has sort of fed into this one-shot too.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Rossi:** Six seconds, fastest case of buyers regret ever.

. . .

Sat cross legged on the bare floorboards Emily looked around. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the place. In fact the opposite, the faults and flaws gave it character - the very character that had drawn her in. Made her believe that this was what she wanted.

There was a very good reason why Emily had never bought a house. She had never ever felt that she had a home. The whole of her life had revolved around moving from one impressive abode to another. Due to that home became a collection of memories that she retreated into rather than a physical structure.

She had carefully collected the moments that were important to her, with selected mementoes along the way. Each made her feel safe and secure the way a certain collection of bricks and mortar made others feel secure.

Home as a specific place was an alien concept.

That was until she had been forced away. Not in the way that her mother's career had dictated where in the wide world her family lived. No, this had been much more sinister. Pretending to be dead to save the lives of those she cared for most. Left alone in a familiar, yet strange place, with nothing but those very memories she held so dear she suddenly pined for her apartment. To be back home.

Leaving behind her friends, her now family, had left her feeling empty. It made her realise that she had, slowly, over the years become dependent on this group of people and their collective home. She had finally settled down.

Not settled in the traditional sense. There was no big day with a white dress and everyone gushing how beautiful she looked. There was no loving husband and adoring child waiting for her to return to them. Those things she coveted had eluded her, which was why she had never realised how truly settled she was. The little routines that had slotted into her life - monthly Girl's Night, Reid and hers cultural weekends, meeting Morgan at the gym. They had all become a part of her and removing them hurt as much as if she had had her heart physically torn from her chest.

And that was why she had needed to come back. No matter what or how long she was kept away from them, she had to come back. She had to try and selvage the past. She needed to be home again.

Emily huffed as she thought back to those dark days, how simple it had seemed to once more pick up her life. To settle back in the familiarity she had taken for granted.

However it had been an uphill battle, walking back into the lives of those who had mourned for her. She had caused more havoc then she had ever imagined leaving, but returning created a fresh set of issues.

Everything that she had worked so hard to have was shattered. Trust had been lost, bonds broken. Her family had moved on without her. Sure she was accepted back but it wasn't the same. She was home, but her shelter had been ransacked, violated and left in tatters. The bricks and mortar that she had longed for may still be standing, but it had become an empty shell compared to its former self.

Emily had never been one to give up – she prided herself on her perseverance and plain stubbornness. With that in mind she had fought to regain everything. She had worn herself ragged trying to prove to everyone how much they meant to her. That she would literally die for them should it be necessary. Though some days, she felt that dying would have been an easier option compared to facing everyone again.

So here she stood in the building she was to make her home. Deciding that there was nowhere else on this planet she rather be, Emily had chosen to buy rather than rent. She was finally ready to commit, to say here I am and this time I am staying. No more running away to hide. I am home!

After months of searching she had found this place. It had seemed perfect, the feel had been right. It had felt like home.

Now sitting in the empty room, looking around, she could no longer see the vision she had first had. The picture perfect room she had imagined as she had looked around. Now she could see every crack. Each one ruining the fantasy she had allowed to play.

This was to become her home. It was going to fix the fragile life she was leading. It was going to prove to everyone that Emily Prentiss was here to stay. Boy, it had to be the world's most expensive band-aid.

Emily rose slowly from the floor, leaning against the wall as she looked out of the large window to the busy passing world outside. The oblivious faces of those shooting past, each centred on their own problems and issues.

As she stood, watching without truly seeing, Emily wondered where she went from here. If this wasn't really to be her home then what was she to do? For so many months she had longed to be back here among those she loved and trusted, but now she was here it was different. Fears were creeping in and the urge to run was returning.

After all, alone there was no-one to hurt you. Alone she could protect herself. Alone she could reset her defences and make sure that there was no way of anyone getting to close again.

Standing here she could see the cracks in the foundations, not the physical ones in the building she was in, but the metaphorical ones splitting the family she cared for. Cracks that couldn't be fixed, she knew because she had tried. Sure they were hidden, but look close enough and you could tell they were still there. And that scared her.

It wasn't that she was afraid it was all about to fall apart around her, she was just afraid that her family were not as strong as they had once been. She had caused that damage and it was evidently irreversible.

So now she had to decide.

Did she settle here? Accepting how her family had evolved and move forward with them.

Or, did she move on by herself? Leaving them to live their lives without her, leaving them alone once more.

Buyer's regret, more like a life of regret!

. . .

Do not brood over your past mistakes and failures as this will only fill your mind with grief, regret and depression. Do not repeat them in the future.  
><strong>Sivananda, Hindu Spiritual Teacher<strong>


	22. Profiling 101

**Series 7 One-shots: Profiling 101**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**Nearing the end now! Have found this a lot harder this series, but glad I have done it. I couldn't ignore Rossi for this one. Sorry this is a little shorter then some, but I really struggled to be happy with this.**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Garcia:** Is he going to be okay?

**Prentiss:** Of course he is, it's Rossi.

**. . .**

Birthdays were something to celebrate –a joyous occasion to share with your friends and family. Have a drink, a meal or just do the things you don't usually get to enjoy. The one day of the year you should be able to do what you want, where you want with who you want.

Sure as you got older you may dread the encroaching years, out of vanity or fear of old age. However that had never worried Dave. He was Italian through and through; they aged gracefully, becoming more distinguished as the years past.

Yet still the approach of another birthday twisted his stomach into the sort of complicated knot any mariner would be proud. The constant nausea resulting in a reduced appetite and solemn mood that left him surrounded by a dull mist, which those who knew him, knew meant they should avoid him.

Dave was fine with that.

Solitude was preferable. He had always tended to be a lone ranger. It was the way he had been trained. Sure Hotch and his team had tried to teach the old dog new tricks, but deep down Dave wanted to be alone at times like this. He was at his best when his mind was allowed to process things at its own pace.

And after all, if birthdays weren't an appropriate time to take stock of the years that had past and what you had done – then when was?

Are we all nothing but a product of our past experiences? And there were not many that could hold claim to the mass of experiences Dave had gathered over the decades. There probably weren't many that would want to share such either.

Not everyone willingly co-existed with rapists, terrorists, paedophiles and serial killers. _Was it worth it?_ Damn right it was. The satisfaction when you got it right, the life you managed to save, the knowledge that locals could sleep soundly once more out-weighed the personal nightmares.

However there was the flipside – those that didn't work out as he wanted.

Those were the ones that haunted him.

He didn't need an eidetic memory to remember the majority of the cases he had dealt with – those sorts of details tended to leave a mark. However there were always those ones that no matter what he did continued to hang around like a bad smell. Those that not just got under his skin but reached right into the pit of his stomach and made him retch as his mind reeled with the images.

Those cases David Rossi could count on one hand, luckily. However that didn't make it any easier when the cold sweats broke through the night or when the screams wouldn't leave you in peace or it was no longer possible to close your eyes for fear of what you may see. Then a hand full of cases may well be a hundred, for all it mattered.

Some nights he was back in Indianapolis, the screams piercing his dreams. The sound of those three young children and the horror they have witnessed. Then there was the blood, bright scarlet, and covering every available surface.

For twenty years that nightmare took its turn in the carousel. Returning years later to deal with the source had relieved it for a while, but even now when exhausted it would creep back in. His mind momentarily forgetting that he had found the killer, that Connie Garlen and her siblings are safe.

For a while Ashley Beauchamp was the face that disturbed his slumber. He would never forget the look as he told her that her father was the Redmond Ripper, shattering the girl's belief in all she held safe. At least he had done his best to protect her from the full detail of what her father had done. Even if it meant Dave was forced to relive what he had seen.

It had been a long time since Ashley had visited him in his dreams. He had suffered a spate when she had joined the BAU, as Ashley Seaver. Seeing her fragile innocence each day had brought that moment to the forefront of his mind.

Of course the victims of 'The Butcher' had made sure they had had their share of his sleeping hours. Their strained voices, in each of the calls, which he had played so many times, until they were etched in his memories. Twenty-five years it had taken to rid him of that selection of nightmares.

Yet there was one that even thought they had the killer - even though evil had been caged. Still Dave couldn't rest, because he knew that once a year he would be summoned to collect his gift. Nearly two decades had been necessary to track down the SoB. Now, three years since they had incarcerated Thomas Yates, 'The Womb Raider', he had kept his deal.

Sat outside the prison walls in his car David Rossi slowly unfolded the handmade 'Birthday card' that he had placed inside the file. The sheet of paper gave Rossi the one thing he desired above any present that could be bought. The single name meant another family could have an answer to their questions. It may not be the one they wanted, but it was an answer, closure.

Charlotte Davis, it didn't mean anything yet. She could have been a runaway, a college student, a prostitute, an addict, a mom or anything else under the sun. How she died and where she was would all become clear in the next few days.

Fastening his belt, David drove away, leaving behind the man that he would meet later in his sleep.

. . .

History... is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.  
><strong>Philip Roth, novelist<strong>


	23. Hit & Run

**Series 7 One-shots: Hit & Run**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing but the ideas.**

**So this is it – the final one!**

**I have stuck to the American format and put both episodes together into a single one-shot (in the UK the episodes were split over two weeks). For the detail seekers among you, this is written in the order of the dances Emily had at the wedding. I will admit I struggled to write this, as it brought me to tears – so be warned!**

**All that is left is to say – see you with Series 8 (if I can face doing this again).**

. . .

**Prompt**

**Prentiss:** It's not you guys, I love you. I just . . . I can't grab on to my old life and pretend that nothing happened.

. . .

Emily knew this was wrong, that it flew against common protocol, but there was no way she could risk Reid being the last to know. Besides she knew that if she could make him understand then she could make anyone understand.

Hovering by the coffee machine, the smell of the fresh pot testing her resolve to stay off of caffeine, Emily waited for the arrival of the young genius. Nervously she nibbled at the edges of her already shot nails. He was always early, why today did he have to be late?

"What's up?" came a cheery voice as Spencer Reid rounded the corner, dumping the disposable cup that had held his previous coffee on the way to grabbing the next.

"Nothing," Emily lied unconvincingly, shoving her hands deep into her pockets as she spoke.

Reid stopped and stared – rooted to the very spot.

"Don't" Emily squirmed.

"Don't what?" he squeaked, fully aware of what he was doing.

"Don't analyse me," she answered, realising that she was totally distracting from the point of hanging around the coffee pot in the first place, this was not how she had imagined the conversation would go, "It's just, I wanted to talk to you."

Reid reached passed her without saying a word to get a mug and filled it, before leaving for his desk.

"Wait," she called as she followed him over.

Reid placed his coffee down followed by his satchel, before sitting in his chair and flicking on the computer. He reached for the top file on the pile, but his hand was blocked. Slowly he looked up.

"Don't think you can ignore me, because I can be a complete pain in the arse, if that is what it takes for you to take notice," as she spoke Emily reached across to her desk and pulled her chair over sitting right next to him, "Okay so shall we go through the first file togethe?."

"I don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say," Reid near whispered, his eyes flitting round nervously.

"Tough, because if I don't tell you then you will only accuse me of leaving without saying goodbye; and I can't do that again. So you either listen now or I plague you for the rest of the day."

"You're leaving," Reid lifted his head and stared at her for the second time that morning.

Emily nodded, this was harder then she thought. Why did it seem like a good idea to talk to everyone at work? She should have stuck to her original plan and called round in the evenings, or maybe got them all together and dealt with it in one foul sweep.

"End of the month," she shrugged, as if it explained everything.

"Is everything okay?" Reid asked, not attempting to hide the concern in his voice.

Emily smiled and nodded, "If you mean do I have another mad-man after me, then no. This time it is of my own free will and choice. I . . . I just need something new. I can't do _this_ any longer."

Emily waved her hand around the room, which was slowly filling as she spoke, her eyes tracing the path. She remembered the last time she had done the same thing. Listening to Hotch deliver the profile for Doyle as she decided to leave to face him –it had broken her heart to walk away. Now she didn't know if she had the strength to do it a second time.

"I'll miss you," Reid whispered as he fiddled with the items on his desk, unable to look up at her.

"I'll miss you too," Emily struggled to speak past the lump in her throat. Slowly she reached over and squeezed Reid's hand, stopping the incessant twitching. Neither said another word. They just sat for as long as they could get away with.

. . .

Emily stood outside Derek's office, trying to summon the mental strength to knock. She knew that Derek was well aware of what was coming yet somehow it didn't make it any easier. Rapping her knuckles quietly on the door, she waited before entering.

Once inside, Emily sat opposite Derek. The look on his face said it all.

"I told Reid," she said flatly.

Derek nodded.

"Not everything, just that I can't do this job anymore. I thought he might understand that after all he has been through."

Derek nodded again, interlacing his finger on the desk in front of him.

"You'll look after him for me, won't you?" Emily managed before the tears finally choked her.

Derek shot round the desk and pulled her into a hug, "Of course, but he's stronger than any of us give him credit for."

Emily hic-cupped a sob as she pulled away, "I don't know if I can do this."

"You don't have to," Derek answered hopefully.

"I do, that's the problem," Emily tried hard to minimise the impact of her tears on her make-up as she spoke, "I thought walking away from you all to face Doyle was hard, but I was wrong. This is much harder; actually telling people is a bitch."

"Then make the most of the time you have left with us. Take Reid to see one of those strange foreign films you enjoy, have the biggest girl's night out you can, share extravagant Italian wine with Rossi and take Jack to the park with Hotch. Do all the things you enjoy most so everyone has a great memory to share with you before you go."

"What about you?" she asked, the tears brimming her eyes again.

"We'll think of something," Derek smiled, a forced facade to how he was truly feeling.

. . .

Making her way along the landing, she bypassed Hotch for a while. Rossi's door was open, so she stepped tentatively inside. She immediately realised Dave was out. Turning slowly she took in the now familiar surroundings, and remembered back to getting caught analysing the room when Dave became its new occupant.

It didn't look that much different from that day, the final colour not being miles away from the original taupe base coat. The only difference was this time Emily knew that David Rossi wasn't the cold and distant personality she had originally typecast him as.

"Thought you learnt your lesson a long time ago about snooping round my office," Emily jumped as the deep voice spoke from the doorway.

She turned to see Dave leaning against the post a smile on his face - one that soon dissipated as he took in the sullen look on hers.

"What's the matter?"

Emily sighed not sure she could do this again.

Dave went past her and opened a draw, placing two cut crystal tumblers onto the desk.

Emily shook her head, "It's not even lunchtime yet."

"So, you look like you need it," Dave held the bottle of single malt over the first glass.

"No, honestly, not now," Emily waved her hand in protest then watched as Dave replaced the glasses and bottle in his not so secret hiding hole, "I need to speak to Strauss later, don't think it's a good idea. However after her . . . "

"I'll have one ready for you," he smiled knowingly. Strauss had that effect on people, "So . . ."

"So . . . I'm leaving. Easter wants me to run things for him, since he's moving onto bigger and better."

"And you have said yes?" Dave raised an eyebrow questioning.

"It is a step away from the front line," Emily shrugged, "just what I need. . . I can't face the victims anymore."

Dave nodded, he could understand that. Hell he had taken a long enough hiatus to hide in his books, before returning to face it all again.

"You know you'll be welcome back anytime. . ."

Emily nodded.

". . . and that you will be missed."

. . .

JJ and Garcia both took a seat as Emily slid into the opposite side of the booth.

"Sweetie this is lovely, surprise lunch and all, but I was thinking something a little more risqué for our little belated bachelorette party," Garcia smiled.

Emily smiled, "It's not in celebration of JJ's recent nuptials, in fact I'm not sure you would call it a celebration at all."

JJ looked Emily straight in the eye, "I don't like the sound of that,"

"Then you are going to like this even less," Emily forced a smile, anything to hold back the tears, "I'm leaving the BAU."

Emily let the news sink in.

"No," Garcia wailed, catching the attention of most of the occupants of the diner.

Emily reached across and took her hand, "I'm sorry."

"But we have only just got you back."

"I know but I can't do this any longer."

"So what are you doing?" JJ asked suspiciously.

"Leaving for England, I'm replacing Clyde," Emily answered flatly, avoiding either set of eyes.

The waitress brought their order over, their usual, placing them in front of each customer with care.

Each looked at their plate, but not one started to eat – they no longer had an appetite.

. . .

Sat opposite Hotch Emily took a deep breath, "Why do I get the feeling you know what I am going to say before I say it?"

Hotch shrugged, "because I am a very good profiler."

"Or Rossi has been in to moan at you already assuming I'd come here first."

"That too, and I must admit I'm a little disappointed I'm last on your list. I thought you could talk to me Emily."

"Sorry," Emily muttered, "Does it help if I tell you it's because I don't want you to be disappointed in me that I have found it difficult to tell you the truth."

"Why would you think I'd be disappointed in you? Yes I'm disappointed you are leaving, you're a good agent."

"Because I'm giving up," Emily answered honestly, "It's all getting too much for me and I'm running, again."

"Running to a highly stressful job that anyone can see as a promotion. I think technically you may out rank me in this one."

"Really, bet you didn't let Clyde know that when he was over here."

Hotch had to smile.

"So how long?"

"End of the month, I've booked my flight, now just need to sort the rest of my life out."

"I know that, how long have you wanted to leave?"

Emily recounted her conversation with Morgan, the honest truth that she had been looking for an escape route since she had returned, "Too long. Guess I have just been too stubborn to admit it."

"Emily Prentiss . . . stubborn?"

They both smiled, knowing that moments like this were rare, but part of what they would both miss.

. . .

Stood at her desk, clearing her things for the night, Emily looked around the familiar setting. She had thought hiding from Doyle had been the hardest thing she had ever done. That the solitude had been suffocating. Yet facing the next two weeks she knew would bring a rollercoaster of emotion, and that sharing was not going to make it any easier.

Closing her bag Emily felt a hand on her shoulder. She couldn't help but jump as she thought she was the last person there.

"Time for that drink now?" asked the familiar voice of David Rossi.

She nodded, as they made their way to his office.

. . .

I've always heard every ending is also a new beginning, we just don't know it at the time, I'd like to believe that's true.

**Emily Prentiss**


End file.
